» . 

I 


it 


iin'i    ! 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
FRANK  J.  KLINGBERG 


THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 


THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 


BY 

MAURICE  HEWLETT 


•WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

PHILIP  BURNE-JONES 


PHILADELPHIA  6-  LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,   IpIS,   BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


PUBLISHED  SEPTEMBER.    I9IS 


PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  SQUARE  PRESS 

PHILADELPHIA,   U.  S.  A. 


College 
Library 


t-7/ 


"  There  were  four  brothers  loved  one  lass." 

— CORMAC  AND   STANGERD 


1577019 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  INITIATION 9 

II.  ILLUMINATION 24 

III.  IMPLICATION 43 

IV.  INTENTION 58 

V.  INVERORAN 74 

VI.  THE  STATE  VISIT 90 

VII.  SETTLING  IN 103 

VIII.  EUPHEMIA 117 

IX.  THE  BALL 125 

X.  SEQUELAE 137 

XI.  THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR 148 

XII.  HELENA  FLIES • 164 

XIII.  ASYLUM 184 

XIV.  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE 193 

XV.  INTERRUPTION 204 

XVI.  THE  SIEGE  OPENS 222 

XVII.  HECTOR  IN  FORCE 233 

XVIII.  THE  BATTLE  SWAYS 248 

XIX.  THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR 268 

XX.    PlERPOINT 277 

XXI.  SURRENDER 291 

XXII.  PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK 301 

XXIII.  THE  END  OF  IT  ALL 312 


THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 


INITIATION 

I  AM  sure  that  such  things  as  I  have  to  relate 
in  these  chapters — things  of  which  I  was  the 
concerned  witness  from  beginning  to  end — 
could  not  happen  in  any  country  of  Europe 
but  my  own,  a  country  where  respect  for  things 
in  being  is  carried  to  the  other  side  of  idolatry, 
and  where,  at  the  same  time,  you  may  see 
men,  and  even  communities  of  men,  run  head- 
long down  steep  places  to  destruction  in  pur- 
suit of  abstract  ideas,  and  win  in  the  ridiculous 
act  the  admiration  and  respect  of  those  to 
whom  the  ideas  themselves  are  shocking.  A 
Briton,  you  admit,  reveres  established  order, 
fears  God,  honours  the  King,  loves  his  father 
and  mother,  &c.  So  he  does.  But  say  that 
a  man  knocks  his  head  against  established 
order — sufficiently  hard;  say  that  he  perishes 
for  atheism's  sake,  is  exiled  for  his  nihilism, 
disputes  his  father's  will,  to  bankruptcy,  or 
runs  away  with  his  neighbour's  wife  on  altru- 

9 


io  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

istic  grounds — that  man,  when  he  has  been 
disposed  of  with  savagery,  may  easily  become 
a  national  hero.  We  say  that  it's  dogged  that 
does  it,  that  he  is  a  True  Blue,  a  hard-bitten 
man.  If  he  is  a  poet,  he  becomes  a  classic. 
If  he  is  a  politician,  he  founds  a  party,  and 
his  name  inflames  men  to  dangerous  cheering. 
To  be  short,  we  adore  the  thing  that  is,  be- 
cause it  is;  and  we  adore  the  man  who  tries 
to  destroy  it,  not  because  he  succeeds,  but 
because  he  tries.  It's  all  very  odd. 

But  sentiment,  which  in  England  carries 
its  head  so  high,  carries  also  lance  and  shield, 
and  presents  a  brave  front  to  the  wind  and  the 
rain.  The  harder,  indeed,  it  blows,  the  more 
bravely  pricks  the  gentle  knight.  It  is  fair 
weather  that  brings  him  down.  For  he  carries 
with  him,  too,  his  own  bane;  a  little  worm 
which  gropes  a  way  into  his  marrow,  and 
inflames  the  optic  nerve. 

When  Hector  Malleson  went  out  to  set  the 
world  into  order  it  was  not  riot  or  clamour 
that  loosened  his  knees.  On  the  contrary, 
the  extreme  lengths  to  which  the  romantic 
led  him  were  in  themselves  a  warrant  of 
success.  He  was  in  fact  too  successful.  All 


INITIATION  ii 

fell  out  as  he  could  have  desired.  He  achieved 
a  preposterous  position  for  himself  and  his 
mistress.  He  bestrode  a  bottomless  gulf  with 
triumphant  intrepidity.  The  world  wondered. 
And  then,  even  as  we  gaped,  he  sagged  in  the 
middle  and  fell  in.  The  affair  which  he  had 
begun  went  on  of  itself.  It  was  as  if  the 
champion  of  Troy,  instead  of  going  out  to 
face  Achilles,  had  stayed  at  home  with  the 
toothache,  and  left  the  affair  to  Priam,  King 
and  Patriarch.  That  was  what  happened  in 
this  leaguer  of  a  minor  Troy,  which  I  chronicle 
here.  A  maggot  entered  my  poor  Hector  and 
palsied  his  blow.  You  see,  I  scorn  conceal- 
ment. I  lay  out  my  wares  on  the  tray.  I 
could  even  tell  you  the  name  of  the  maggot, 
but  that  you  have  guessed  it  for  yourself. 

I  remember  talking  about  these  very  things 
to  Hector  Malleson  on  one  of  our  annual 
journeys  over  the  Continent,  of  which  Great 
Britain  is  so  discordant  a  member — long  be- 
fore the  events  which  I  am  going  to  write 
about  now  were  in  solution.  We  were  driving 
up  and  down  those  huge  circular  sweeps  of 
road  which  take  you  in  time,  though  you  don't 


12  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

at  the  time  believe  it,  over  the  Jura ;  and  were 
talking,  to  be  exact,  about  the  power  of  love 
to  "make  or  mar  the  foolish  fates."  Hector, 
dear,  absurd  fellow,  was  one  of  those  men 
who  when  they  are  in  love  cannot  conceive 
that  they  ever  were  or  ever  will  be  out  of  it 
again,  and  when  they  are  not  (which  happens 
quite  as  often)  do  not  believe  that  they  ever 
were.  At  the  moment  he  was  not  in  love; 
he  had,  in  fact,  just  escaped  a  rather  bad 
attack  in  London  with  a  young  and  very  pretty 
widow,  a  black-haired  woman  with  a  mag- 
nolia-skin and  the  appurtenances  thereof.  She 
sailed,  rather  suddenly,  to  Buenos  Ayres,  and 
left  him  like  Ariadne  in  Naxos.  It  was  tonic. 
He  shook  himself,  shuddered,  and  foreswore 
love. 

Now,  in  the  Jura,  he  was  telling  me  with 
all  seriousness  that  no  great  man,  "no  man 
born  to  great  destinies,"  as  he  put  it,  had 
ever  risked  his  greatness  for  a  woman.  Not 
being  concerned  to  affirm  or  deny,  I  didn't 
go  far  afield  for  my  example,  but  mentioned 
Paris,  the  "woman-haunting  cheat,"  who  is 
surely  the  type.  Paris,  of  course,  will  only 
support  a  very  light-hearted  argument;  but 


INITIATION  13 

he  took  him  on  for  more  than  he  was  worth, 
being  Hector  Malleson;  he  took  him  histori- 
cally, and  disposed  of  him  thus.  "Paris," 
he  said,  "is  obviously  your  man" — as  if  I 
wanted  a  man! — "but  he  won't  help  you. 
Paris,  to  begin  with,  was  not  Priam's  heir. 
Hector  was  the  heir.  I  think  that  is  obvious  in 
the  name  given  to  his  son  by  the  people — Asty- 
anax,  they  called  him:  King  of  the  city.  That 
was  proleptic.  That  is  allowed  in  poetry." 

I  said  that  he  ought  to  know — for  he  was 
by  way  of  being  a  poet  himself.  That  also 
he  took  gravely,  and  I  remember  how  he  sat, 
with  an  outline  something  between  an  inter- 
rogation and  an  exclamation-mark,  drawn  up 
stiffly  to  his  slim  height,  with  his  hands  pointed 
between  his  knees. 

"Paris  has  been  misunderstood,"  he  said. 
"He  has  been  taken  for  a  sensualist,  but 
wrongly.  He  was  a  great  idealist.  He  risked 
his  father's  kingdom  and  dared  ten  years  of 
war  for  the  sake  of  an  idea.  Now  that's  a 
very  different  sort  of  thing.  Many  a  man 
has  been  eaten  by  worms  for  that — but  not 
for  love."  I  felt  rather  than  heard  the  tremor 
in  his  voice. 


14  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"And  what  was  Paris's  idea,  according  to 
you?"  I  asked  him. 

He  replied  immediately.  "The  profanation 
of  Beauty.  He  risked  everything  to  prevent 
that.  And  he  was  right.  If  he  had  been 
Crown  Prince  of  Troy  he  could  have  done 
no  less." 

Now  Hector  was  a  Crown  Prince  in  his  way. 
He  was  the  eldest  son  and  heir  of  Sir  Roderick 
Malleson,  Bart.,  of  Singleton  and  Inveroran, 
in  the  Western  Highlands — to  the  permanent 
bewilderment,  let  me  add,  of  that  royal-eyed 
old  Berserk  himself.  So  you  may  say  that 
he  measured  his  words.  But  he  always  did 
that.  He  was  the  most  serious  young  man 
in  the  world,  and  one  of  the  most  ridiculous. 
Men  of  extreme  positions — and  he  was  one 
of  them,  forever  at  the  end  of  the  bough  or 
the  top  of  the  pole — must  always  appear  that 
to  us  who  are  snugly  by  the  hearth.  It  is 
gallantry  that  carries  them  there,  and  only 
human  nature  that  makes  them  see-saw  for 
a  balance.  But  the  effort  is  ungraceful,  and 
we  smile. 

I  was  awfully  fond  of  Hector.  He  was  as 
good  as  gold,  as  the  saying  is.  But  he  was 


INITIATION  15 

the  cause  of  infinite  chucklement  to  me,  and 
sometimes  he  brought  me  tears — or  some- 
thing very  much  like  tears.  Himself,  he 
never  laughed. 

I  remember  that  conversation  perfectly,  and 
can  see  him  with  his  thin  olive  face  and  heavy 
eyes,  his  slim  gallantry  and  air  of  a  lost  cause 
— only  too  well.  But  it  took  place  many  years 
before  we  met  the  von  Broderodes.  Many 
things  happened  to  Hector  Malleson  in  the 
interval;  many  a  touch-and-go  affair  was 
hit  upon  and  just  missed;  many  a  stormy 
interview  with  Sir  Roderick  flashed  and  vol- 
leyed through  Inveroran,  and  died  away  in 
mutterings  among  the  hills  up  there.  They 
made  a  great  rumpus  at  the  time,  and  had 
Hector  at  the  edge  of  the  world  contemplating 
infinity  with  tragic  eyes  as  often  as  you  please; 
they  divided  the  great  patriarchal  house  into 
hostile  camps,  so  that  sometimes  you  had 
Hector  and  half  of  his  brothers  breakfasting 
and  dining  in  the  East  Wing,  while  his  father 
and  a  remnant  held  the  wall,  like  a  citadel, 
and  commanded  the  supplies.  There  was  one 
occasion — I  mean  when  Mrs.  Gellaghtly,  a 
sprightly  American,  was  there.  She  lifted  her 


16  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

fair  foot  once  and  struck  a  match  on  the  sole 
of  her  shoe.  One  saw — well,  one  had  to  look 
out  of  the  window.  And  then  she  got  lost 
in  the  forest  with  Pierpoint  and  came  back 
to  breakfast  as  if  nothing  had  happened — 
as  perhaps  it  did  not.  There  was  that  one 
occasion,  I  say,  when  I  really  thought  the 
House  of  Inveroran  was  rocked  to  the  founda- 
tions. Hector,  who  had  brought  the  lady 
upon  us,  had  gone  bail  for  her,  you  may  say, 
and  even  at  this  eleventh  hour  was  her  cham- 
pion, shook  the  dust  off  his  brogues  and 
vanished;  two  of  his  brothers  went  with 
him.  The  situation  was  saved  by  Mrs.  Gel- 
laghtly  herself,  who  did  not  vanish — and  by 
Mr.  Gellaghtly,  an  elderly,  very  thin  person 
in  a  frock-coat  and  white  tie,  who  came  and 
lived  unmoved  through  an  electric  twenty-four 
hours.  She  called  him  "hub"  and  perched 
upon  his  narrow  knees.  She  was  like — or 
looked  like — a  speckled  hen  sitting  on  a  fence; 
it  was  daring,  and  entirely  successful.  Sir 
Roderick  simmered  down,  Hector  wrote  a 
long  letter  on  foreign  notepaper  from  Madeira, 
or  somewhere  of  the  sort,  and  all  was  peace 
again.  He  came  up  to  Inveroran  for  Christ- 


INITIATION  17 

mas.  That  was  the  last  of  his  eruptions  for 
at  least  a  year  and  a  half.  Indeed,  affairs  had 
gone  with  perilous  smoothness  up  to  the  spring 
when  we  were  abroad  together,  and  met  the 
von  Broderodes.  Then,  indeed,  the  casting 
of  threads  began  which  were  to  involve  us 
all  in  a  pretty  plexus.  To  that  I  must  now 
address  myself. 

The  thing  began  in  a  watering-place,  to 
call  it  so,  in  the  South  of  Central  Europe,  in 
a  place  which  I  need  not  particularize  further 
than  by  saying  that  on  the  edge  of  a  beautiful 
lake,  under  the  guard  of  solemn  and  slumber- 
ous mountains,  the  greed  of  man  to  secure 
the  shillings  of  his  stupid  fellows  has  done  his 
worst  to  soil  the  one  and  flout  the  other.  The 
description,  I  confess,  is  general;  but  I  don't 
care  to  go  any  closer  to  it  for  obvious  reasons. 

The  thing  began,  as  such  things,  in  my 
belief,  always  do  begin,  in  a  flash.  A  blink 
of  the  eyes  and  there  is  nothing;  a  blink  of 
the  eyes  and  there  is  this  life  and  the  next, 
the  hope  of  heaven  and  the  yawn  of  hell. 
How  is  it  that  at  one  minute  you  are  looking 
at  familiar  things — ducks  in  a  pond,  a  man 


I 

, 

18  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

and  woman  talking,  a  boy  in  a  bath-chair 
and  a  girl  walking  beside  it — and  at  another 
you  see  upon  them  the  light  that  never  was? 
What  has  happened  that  the  heart  is  touched, 
trembles  to  tears?  The  thing  is  done,  all 
your  life-scheme  is  changed.  What  sudden 
glory  floods  your  day  with  the  implication  of 
God  ?  What  stab  of  the  heart  brings  it  about 
that  you  are  not  the  man,  nor  she  the  woman, 
you  were  a  moment  ago?  Whence  comes  a 
glory  upon  her,  a  sanctity?  The  particles, 
the  flesh  and  bone,  the  hair  and  skin  have 
been  rearranged,  transfigured.  You  yourself 
now  thrill  like  an  ^Eolian  harp;  and  as  for 
her,  she  is  garmented  with  light.  There's  no 
explaining  a  thing  of  the  sort.  It  is  not — 
and  then  it  is.  It  has  never  been  so  yet  to 
me.  My  time's  to  come.  But  it  happened 
to  Hector  about  once  a  year.  He  was  a  great 
hand  at  miracles. 

I  had  been  at  this  place — let  us  call  it 
Gironeggio  at  once  and  have  done  with  it — 
with  Hector  Malleson  for  a  week  or  so  of  fine 
April  weather:  misty  mornings  clearing  to 
burning  noons,  weather  of  magnolias  in  a 


INITIATION  19 

riot  of  bloom,  of  corn  already  knee-high,  of 
blue  fields  of  flax,  of  roses  dusty  with  the 
foul  traffic  of  man  in  his  roads.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  be  glad  of  it  all,  take  it  all 
in  through  the  pores.  One  felt,  after  a  London 
February  and  March,  as  if  one  had  earned 
it.  I  think  we  intended  to  have  another  ten 
days  there  at  least  before  we  addressed  our- 
selves to  the  small  cities  of  Lombardy,  where 
I  intended  to  archseologize  and  Malleson  to 
read  history.  If  only  he  had  read  history 
instead  of  made  it!  But  you  never  know  your 
luck.  There  were  Modena  and  Parma  and 
Cremona  gaping  for  him — and  he  must  choose 
the  primrose  path! 

However,  Gironeggio  was  very  pleasant,  and 
the  particular  Majestic  Palace  where  we  were 
lodged  was  better  than  most,  being,  in  fact, 
less  majestic.  But  it  was  full.  The  English 
were,  as  usual,  mostly  of  two  professions. 
Every  one  of  them  seemed  to  be  either  bar- 
rister or  schoolmaster;  all  of  them  were  en- 
gaged in  climbing  the  mountain  or  collecting, 
with  avid  haste,  plants  which  they  could  slay 
at  their  leisure  in  Thames-valley  or  Kent- 
coast  rockeries.  They  were  a  brisk  and 


20  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

wholesome  company,  but  not  illuminating, 
unless  you  like  your  light  very  dry.  Their 
wives,  short-skirted  and  clump-soled,  flat 
of  figure  and  tanned  of  face,  accompanied 
them,  severe  and  uncompromising  matrons 
with  views  as  decided  as  their  petticoats.  I 
liked  their  daughters  best,  who  looked  like 
boys  all  day,  and  dressed  for  dinner  as  if  they 
were  going  to  a  children's  party  afterwards. 
Malleson  got  on  well  with  them,  because  he 
was  perfectly  serious  and  had  no  self-con- 
sciousness. They,  having  enough  for  six, 
found  him  easy.  The  rest  of  our  company 
were  Germans;  but  of  them,  so  delightful  at 
home,  so  devastating  abroad,  with  their 
exaggerated  politeness  and  latent  brutality, 
I  must  speak  with  reserve — because  we  be- 
came involved  with  Germans.  We  found  out 
for  how  little  race  counts  when  the  particles 
have  been  rearranged  by  the  Lady  Fates — • 
and  also  for  how  much. 

But  people  fall  easily  into  types;  and  for 
a  week  neither  Malleson  nor  I  took  the  trouble 
to  get  them  into  narrower  categories.  Every 
fat  man  with  a  rolled  neck  who  made  jokes 
and  punctuated  them  with  bowing  salutations 


INITIATION  21 

from  the  hips  seemed  to  be  German;  every 
dark  man  with  large  ears  and  handsome  and 
bulky  ladies  attached  to  his  person  we  took 
for  a  Jew;  every  man  with  a  ragged  beard 
and  mild  eyes  was  a  Russian  .  .  .  and  so 
forth.  When  you  came  to  know  these  people 
well  enough  to  take  liberties  with  their  faces, 
you  could  sort  them  out.  By  a  process  of 
weeding  you  discarded  the  uninteresting  or 
the  obvious.  And  just  as,  by  gazing  steadily 
into  the  dusk,  things  emerge  which  you  did 
not  remark  at  first  encounter,  so  it  is  with 
a  crowd  of  people:  a  face  suddenly  looms 
and  seems  to  cry  to  you.  And  then,  in  a 
minute,  you  are  hard  up  against  a  mystery 
or  a  romance. 

Now  all  this  preamble  is  to  explain  how 
it  is  that  a  couple  of  people  in  that  hotel  had 
been  in  front  of  us  for  a  week  of  days  before 
we  considered  them,  or  so  much  as  knew  they 
were  there.  When  I  did  become  conscious  of 
them  I  judged  that  they  had  been  there  some 
time.  They  had  the  air  of  habitues.  They 
seemed  to  have  cushioned  out  for  themselves 
corners  in  the  rigid  discomfort  of  our  majestic 
palace.  They  always  occupied  the  same  places 


22  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

at  the  same  hours.  The  waiters  brought  them, 
without  orders,  the  same  things  at  the  same 
moments  every  day.  Her  egg-and-milk  at 
ten-thirty:  she  took  it  in  the  garden.  At 
eleven  she  gave  him  her  arm  and  took  him 
off  to  walk.  She  had  tea  and  lemon  at  four; 
he  had  absinthe.  After  dinner,  at  a  fixed 
moment,  came  his  coffee  and  cognac;  then 
his  tumbler  of  strong  waters.  It  was  all  so 
regular,  and  so  dull,  that  you  had,  when  once 
you  had  remarked  upon  it,  to  go  on  watching 
it.  It  became  a  fascination.  You  began  to 
understand  that  they  lived  by  clockwork; 
hour  to  hour  was  struck  by  something  to  be 
done,  eaten  or  prepared  for  eating,  slept  upon, 
walked  in,  taken  off  a  peg,  or  hung  up  on 
one.  The  regularity  of  it  absorbed  you.  You 
used,  as  a  working  hypothesis,  the  belief  that 
these  were  not  real  people,  but  automata; 
and  when  you  had  to  discard  that  by  some 
unexpected  flash  or  flicker  you  wondered  how 
they  could  go  on  doing  it  and  not  go  mad. 
And  finally  you  judged  that  severe  routine 
may  as  easily  keep  you  from  going  mad  as 
send  you  so. 

I  don't  pretend  to  say — I  never  asked  him — 


INITIATION  23 

whether  observation  on  Hector's  part  preceded 
discovery;  whether,  that  is,  facts  of  these 
people's  daily  life  slowly  accumulated  like  a 
pile  of  kindling,  and  then,  perhaps,  broke  into 
fire  by  their  own  pressure  and  mass;  or 
whether  he  himself  brought  the  burning  glass 
and  by  the  light  of  that  revealed  and  fired 
the  dreadful  dry  heap.  I  really  don't  know 
exactly  how  it  was  that  the  underlying,  the 
recluded  heart  of  the  thing  stood  nakedly 
before  his  ingenuous,  but  quite  candid,  gaze. 
My  own  observation  of  the  pair  followed  on 
his  concernment  with  them.  All  I  need  say 
now  is  that  on  the  evening  arranged  by  the 
Fates  I  came  down  dressed  for  dinner  and 
found  him  concerned — up  to  the  neck. 


II 

ILLUMINATION 

HECTOR  was  dressed  before  I  was  half-way 
through  my  bath.  I  know  that  because  I 
heard  him  throw  his  boots  down  and  then 
bang  his  door.  On  my  way  down-stairs  to 
the  hall  where  we  used  to  assemble  I  saw  him 
leaning  against  a  pillar.  He  was  scowling; 
but  he  couldn't  help  that — that  was  facial: 
otherwise  he  might  have  been  saying  his 
prayers  or  (which  is  the  same  thing  with  his 
sort)  looking  at  a  woman.  His  eyes  were 
grey,  and  looked  black  at  night.  People — • 
even  women — thought  him  a  black-eyed  man. 
He  was  thin,  sallow,  elegant,  and  had  jet- 
black  hair.  Not  so  good-looking  as  all  that 
came  to,  he  had  a  trustworthy  face  because 
it  was  essentially  a  simple  one.  You  knew 
where  you  were  with  a  face  like  that;  you 
knew  that  it  disguised  nothing;  you  felt  that 
there  was  nothing  to  disguise.  Again,  he  had 
a  caressing  manner.  I  found  him  soothing — 

I  knew  a  great  many  others  did.     Then  he 
24 


ILLUMINATION  25 

had  good  teeth,  and  a  singularly  sweet  smile. 
It  was  that  in  particular  which  saved  him 
from  the  acute  crisis  frequently  brought  on 
him  by  his  want  of  tact.  For  tactlessness 
he  was  without  a  peer.  You  would  have 
thought  men  and  women  centipedes  from  the 
havoc  Hector  did  among  their  toes.  As  for 
his  own  treadings,  he  would  have  made  a 
faux  pas  on  the  last  day.  But  his  smile 
saved  him:  that  never  failed.  And  he  was 
a  lovable  creature.  If  he  made  more  enemies 
than  were  good  for  any  man,  he  turned  them 
all  into  friends — which  was  perhaps  worse. 
Bless  him,  anyhow,  for  a  donkey,  the  most 
sincere,  irresistible,  serious-minded,  enthusi- 
astic, impracticable  donkey  that  ever  brought 
a  stick  about  his  ears. 

But  all  this  is  a  digression.  He  tempts 
me  to  parentheses;  but  it  is  the  fact  that 
he  was  looking  at  a  woman.  He  and  she 
were  conspicuous  in  a  hall  which  even  then 
was  three  parts  full  of  diners,  moving  about, 
hailing  each  other,  recounting  the  prowesses 
of  the  day  or  the  schemes  for  to-morrow. 
Certainly  I  had  not  seen  her  before  or  I  think 
I  must  have  remarked  her.  A  tallish  woman, 


26  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

she  was;  pale,  with  a  face  like  a  star.  That 
is  poetry  perhaps — it  is,  to  be  just  to  him, 
Hector's  poetry — but  like  all  poetry  it  is 
true.  She  had  a  starry  face,  a  kind  of  divine, 
remote  limpidity,  as  if  she  smiled  in  her  own 
atmosphere,  apart  from  the  dust  and  heat  of 
ours.  She  carried  herself  rarely,  and  though 
she  was  plainly  dressed  she  had  the  air  of 
jewels  about  her — especially  in  her  hair.  I 
mean  that  her  head  seemed  to  be  lifting  a 
coronet.  Her  hair  was  dark,  lustrous  and 
abundant,  smooth  over  her  brows,  heavily 
looped  and  bunched  behind.  It  was  like  a 
hood  to  her,  thrown  back  to  rest  upon  the 
nape  and  shoulders.  I  suppose  that  she  really 
was  tall,  but  being  modestly  formed  she  did 
not  look  her  height.  Her  matronly  air  was 
seated  in  her  eyes  and  lips.  It  was  impossible 
to  suppose  her  unmarried.  You  couldn't  have 
thought  that  for  a  moment.  She  had  no 
lines  on  her  face;  but  I  put  her  down  for 
thirty-five.  Malleson  in  his  ardour  said  thirty, 
and  turned  out  to  be  right.  She  was  dressed 
that  evening  in  black — black  silk  and  lace — • 
without  any  ornaments  but  a  few  rings.  I 
noticed  afterwards  that  she  always  dressed 


ILLUMINATION  27 

in  black  or  white — so  long,  that  is,  as  she  re- 
mained at  Gironeggio. 

I  had  come  down  from  my  part  of  the  house 
by  the  lift,  which  brought  me  out  behind 
Malleson.  The  lady  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall.  She  was 
alone,  but  evidently  waiting  for  a  companion. 

"Austrian,"  I  said  over  Malleson's  shoul- 
der, and  made  him  jump. 

He  shook  me  off  in  momentary  irritation. 
"You  would  label  the  Venus  of  Milo,"  he  said, 
and  I  replied  that  the  Louvre  had  saved  me 
the  trouble,  but  that  I  would  certainly  have 
done  it  if  necessary. 

"Such  women  have  no  country,"  Hector 
said,  as  if  to  himself.  I  suggested  the  Pays 
du  Tendre;  but  I  don't  think  he  heard  me. 

There  were  a  great  many  people  about,  and 
she  was  not,  I  hope,  aware  of  our  unaffected 
interest  in  her.  I  trusted  then,  I  am  quite 
sure  now,  that  we  were  not  so  conspicuous 
to  her  as  she  was  to  us.  She  had,  anyhow, 
that  peculiar  possession  of  the  well-bred,  that 
power  of  ignoring  what  is  disagreeable  or 
uncomfortable — of  ignoring  it  out  of  existence, 
you  may  say.  She  remained  where  she  was, 


28  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

with  one  hand  upon  the  banister-rail,  not  so 
much  indifferent  to  the  assemblage  about  her 
as  independent  of  it.  I  don't  think  she  knew 
that  we  were  there — any  of  us.  Her  simplicity 
was  upon  her  like  a  panoply,  so  much  so  that 
one  was  almost  provoked  by  it,  conscious  of 
a  desire  to  try  it,  to  find  out  whether  it  was 
as  shock-proof  as  it  seemed.  But  after  a 
while  it  reacted  upon  me,  and  I  felt  that  we 
couldn't  stop  there  forever. 

"Come,"  I  said.  "We  can't  spy  upon 
her." 

Hector  murmured  some  inaudible  thing. 
By  this  time  the  diners  had  begun  to  flock 
into  the  salle  a  manger ,  and  I  saw  our  common 
friend  Chevenix  already  at  our  table. 

"Come  along,"  I  repeated.  "Chevenix  is 
arranging  his  table-napkin.  I  see  him  at  it." 

"Wait,"  said  Malleson.  "Wait.  Or  go 
if  you  like.  I  stay  here.  I  can't  come  yet." 

At  that  minute — the  hall  being  nearly 
emptied  of  its  folk — a  dark  bulk  loomed  in 
the  passage  beside  the  stairs  which  lead  from 
the  ground-floor  rooms;  and  then  I  heard 
a  peculiar  sliding  noise,  as  if  one  was  dragging 
a  weight  over  the  floor.  The  lady  looked 


ILLUMINATION  29 

quickly  round,  left  her  anchorage  and  stood 
facing  the  dining-room  doors.  This  then  was 
her  companion:  a  darkly  flushed,  bearded 
man,  square-shouldered,  round-headed,  drag- 
ging a  foot,  and  moving  out  of  the  dark,  as 
it  seemed  by  main  force.  A  wounded  monster, 
a  maimed  Titan,  haling  himself  along. 

He  had  a  stick  in  each  clenched  hand,  and 
got  along  rather  than  walked.  It  must  have 
been  enormous  labour — you  could  see  the 
muscles  grappling  with  the  problem — you 
could  see  that  each  step,  indeed,  was  a  new 
problem;  and  yet  his  eyes  were  twinkling; 
he  smiled  into  the  lady's  face:  he,  too,  had 
patience,  to  cope  with  hers.  I  saw  the  meet- 
ing of  eyes:  his  laughing  to  ask,  hers  not 
giving,  but  rather  accepting.  As  he  drew 
level  with  her  she  turned,  and  accommodating 
her  pace  to  his,  together  they  went  into  the 
dining-room.  She  was  built  for  swiftness, 
but  she  curbed  herself.  I  saw  his  square 
shoulders  doggedly  conquering  the  inches  to 
the  table,  doggedly  dragging  that  deadweight. 

What  more  Malleson  saw,  or  what  he  had 
seen,  I  can't  tell  you.  He  turned  upon  me 
a  tragic  look. 


30  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Doom,"  he  said.  "A  human  sacrifice — 
appointed  to  live,  not  to  die.  I  feel  sick  at 
the  heart." 

He  looked  as  if  he  was  charged  with  heavy 
fate — as  if  all  the  burden  of  two  unhappy 
creatures  whom  he  had  never  seen  before  in 
his  life  had  been  piled  on  to  his  pair  of  slim 
shoulders:  but  I  knew  him  well.  I  made  the 
best  of  it,  for  his  sake. 

"It's  bad,"  I  admitted.  "It's  bad,  but 
it  might  be  worse.  Did  you  see  her  come 
into  the  hall?" 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  few  seconds  without 
speaking.  Then  he  nodded  his  head  and 
looked  away.  I  waited.  Presently  he  said — 
it  was  as  if  I  had  compelled  him — "She  came 
down-stairs."  It  is  true,  I  had  intended  him 
to  tell  me  that,  as  I  say,  for  his  own  sake. 

"Come,"  I  said;  "we'll  go  and  dine." 
But  he  shook  me  off. 

"Dine  as  you  will.  I  can't.  I  shall  go  out 
and  walk  about.  I'll  get  something  to  eat 
when  I  want  it.  I  can't  go  in  there.  I  don't 
want  to  see  them  again  just  yet.  I  tell  you  I 
can't  afford  it." 

I  didn't  reason  with  him — why  should  I? 


ILLUMINATION  31 

It  would  have  been  foolishness.  So  I  left 
him  and  joined  the  exasperated  Chevenix, 
a  copper-headed,  red-faced,  very  complacent 
friend,  who  was  said  to  be  easily  the  best- 
dressed  man  in  Gironeggio. 

I  saw  him  with  extended  hand  and  fire  in 
his  blue  eyes  threatening  the  waiter.  He  had 
no  fulmination  to  spare  for  me — at  least,  I 
think  not. 

"What  the  devil  .  .  ."he  was  saying,  but 
at  the  same  moment  his  soup  came  to  him, 
and  did  more  than  any  excuses  from  me. 
He  addressed  himself  to  that.  "It  might 
be  hotter,"  he  said,  "but  it  seems  nourishing. 
Where's  Malleson?" 

I  explained  that  Malleson  wasn't  dining. 
Chevenix  looked  momentarily  concerned. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked.  "Toothache? 
Telegrams?  Can  I  do  anything?" 

"Nothing,  Chevenix,"  I  assured  him,  and 
looked  about  for  the  real  cause  of  trouble. 

They  had  a  side-table  and  a  diligent  attend- 
ance. I  guessed  them  immediately  for  persons 
of  consequence,  because  the  head-waiter  had 
such  a  careful  eye  for  them.  Apart  from  that, 
they  looked  it.  The  man,  with  his  square 


32  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

bulk  and  hardy  eyes,  had  the  assured  air  of 
the  comfortably  cushioned  in  this  world,  that 
air  of  a  corner-seat  which  the  great,  especially 
the  foreign  great,  are  seldom  without.  An 
English  peer  is  very  often  apologetic.  He 
seems  to  say,  "Excuse  my  greatness.  I  was 
born  to  it — it's  a  thing  that  can't  be  helped." 
The  French  aristocrat,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
frank  about  it.  "  I  am  somebody,  and  you  are 
canaille.  True.  But  all  that  apart,  how  can  I 
serve  you  ? "  And  as  for  the  German — it  is  like 
the  rest  of  his  system.  It  is  the  act  of  God. 

I  put  these  people  down  as  Austrians,  and 
Chevenix,  when  I  called  his  attention  to  them, 
agreed. 

"Austrian,  right,"  he  said.  "You  can 
always  tell.  If  ever  you  see  Germans  who 
seem  sorry  about  it,  and  anxious  to  be  some- 
thing else,  they  are  Austrians.  Very  nice 
people — except  to  each  other.  There,  I  hap- 
pen to  know,  they  are  the  deuce.  I  knew 
a  couple  once — "  But  at  that  moment  he 
stopped.  He  stared — he  grew  red — he  looked 
the  other  way. 

"Sorry,"  he  said,  then  to  me  in  a  tragic 
whisper,  "Bad  case." 


ILLUMINATION  33 

I  had  seen  what  he  had  seen.  The  man 
by  sheer  muscular  force  had  managed  to 
drink  out  of  a  wine-glass.  He  had  collected, 
concentrated,  his  will-power  upon  it,  grappled 
with  it,  rocked  it  to  and  fro  in  mighty  conflict, 
drained  it,  and  set  it  down.  It  gave  you 
much  the  same  effect  as  you  would  get  at  a 
circus  from  an  elephant  lighting  a  cigar — 
that  of  enormous  concentration,  of  incredible 
difficulties  overcome  by  strength.  It  was  a 
question  of  a  few  seconds  only;  yet  I  had 
seen  the  gathering  of  the  forces  for  attack, 
the  clutching  hand,  the  putting  forth  of  all 
his  strength — and  the  futility  of  effort.  It 
affected  me  very  much.  I  felt  it  tragic  and 
horrible  at  once. 

It  set  Chevenix  moralizing  at  random. 
"That's  bad,  you  know,  when  you  get  it 
like  that.  Uses  up  your  reserves,  what? 
And  all  for  a  drink!  All  for  love  and  the 
world  well  lost,  eh?  Oh,  quite  so,  quite  so! 
But  for  a  glass  of  claret!"  He  mused,  and 
I  had  lost  the  thread  of  his  discourse  when 
he  broke  out  again.  "  I  knew  a  man — married 
to  a  jolly  pretty  woman,  too — who  had  no 
feet  at  all.  Accident,  you  know.  Volcano 

3 


34  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

or  something.  Found  himself  in  lava — that 
sort  of  thing.  Pegs  he  had — two  pegs.  No 
feet.  He  used  to  go  dotting  about  with  two 
sticks.  You  might  have  been  following  your 
own  dressing-table,  I  assure  you.  ...  A 
pretty  woman,  too.  Yet  he  seemed  to  give 
satisfaction.  She  never  looked  at  anybody 
else — so  far  as  /  know." 

"You  mean  that  she  didn't  look  at  you, 
I  suppose?"  I  ventured. 

"Right,"  said  Chevenix.  "That's  just 
what  I  do  mean." 

"Now,  with  our  friend  over  there,"  he 
continued,  when  he  had  helped  himself  to 
ice-pudding,  "I  should  say  that  she  was 
considerably  bored.  Shouldn't  you?  She's 
your  still-water  sort — that  you  can  see.  She 
never  told  her  love.  Not  she.  Sooner  die. 
Bless  you,  I  know  that  kind.  Damask  cheek, 
what?  I  suppose,  you  know,  that  it  took 
her  unawares.  And  him,  too.  A  thief  in 
the  night.  Oh,  it's  pretty  thick,  a  thing  of 
that  sort.  And — I  say!"  He  suddenly  fixed 
me  with  a  very  open  and  alert  pair  of  eyes. 
"I  say,  what's  the  matter  with  Malleson, 
anyhow?" 


ILLUMINATION  35 

I  must  say  that  Bill  Chevenix,  with  the 
manners  of  a  first-class  ass,  has  a  far-reaching 
intelligence.  Here,  however,  he  rather  di- 
vined than  inferred. 

I  said,  "Malleson  has  seen  them." 

"And  it  has  knocked  him  out?  Well,  he's 
a  sensitive  plant.  But  Broderode's  all  right." 

I  jumped.  "What I"  I  said.  "You  know 
them,  then?" 

He  grew  explanatory.  "My  dear  man,  I 
know  their  names — that's  as  far  as  I  am  pre- 
pared to  go  at  present.  He  is  a  Baron  Eugene 
von  Broderode — and  she  is  his  Baroness." 

"Then  you've  seen  them  before?" 

Chevenix  tossed  his  head.  "Seen  them 
before?  I  should  hope  so.  When  did  you 
ever  know  me  not  see  a  pretty  woman  before? 
You  imagine  a  vain  thing." 

I  said  that  she  was  more  than  a  pretty 
woman,  and  he  allowed  it.  I  said  that  she 
was  a  beautiful  woman,  by  which  I  largely 
mean  a  woman  made  beautiful  by  a  beautiful 
nature.  A  kind  of  lamp,  illuminated  from 
within.  I  judged  that  she  was  not  a  happy 
woman  and  didn't  see  how  she  could  expect 
to  be;  but  I  allowed  a  great  deal  for  use- 


36  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

and-wont,  and  wasn't  prepared  to  be  as 
shocked  as  the  too  susceptible  Hector  had 
been.  I  considered  that  she  was  chiefly  bored, 
but  I  admit  that  I  had  not  gone  deeply  into 
her  case.  Perhaps  you  need  imagination  to 
do  that.  I  don't  think  I  have  much  of  it. 
I  did  notice,  however,  that  they  were  a  silent 
couple,  speaking  only  upon  commonplaces; 
I  noticed  also  that  such  talk  as  there  was 
came  from  him.  She  answered,  but  carelessly, 
as  if  such  prattle  was  not  worth  notice.  Then 
again  there  was  this.  He  sought  her  attention 
and  occasionally  compelled  it.  She  looked 
at  him  when  she  had  to,  but  not  unless  he 
made  her.  Letters  and  a  newspaper  or  two 
were  brought  to  them  by  the  ever-watchful 
head-waiter.  She  opened  his  for  him,  as  the 
poor  fellow  was  making  a  dreadful  mess  of 
it.  Her  own  occupied  her  for  the  rest  of  the 
meal.  She  ate  hardly  anything;  but  he,  on 
the  contrary,  did  himself  extremely  well,  and 
wrestled  for  his  wine  with  a  zeal  worthy  of 
a  better  cause.  To  see  him  at  that  was  to 
witness  an  enthralling  spectacle.  A  battle 
on  a  large  scale — masses  engaged — no  quarter 
— and  all  for  a  glass  of  claret! 


ILLUMINATION  37 

After  dinner  we  took  our  coffee  in  the 
Lounge  with  a  cosmopolitan  Dutchman  from 
The  Hague,  who  knew  everybody.  Eugene 
von  Broderode  was  our  man's  name,  he  agreed. 
She  was  a  Pole,  he  believed.  His  family, 
of  course,  was  from  the  Low  Countries;  he 
bore  an  historical  name;  but  he  was  of  a 
younger  branch  of  it  long  settled  in  Galicia. 
A  very  accomplished  man,  great  traveller, 
spoke  English  as  well  as  we  did;  had  been 
in  diplomacy,  and  was  so  when  our  friend 
saw  most  of  him — in  Rome  that  had  been, 
in  '86-'88.  We  saw  how  it  was  with  him? 
Here  Chevenix  nodded  sagely  and  looked 
concerned.  Never  be  surprised  at  such  things, 
said  our  friend.  His  manner  of  life  had  been 
— here  he  shrugged  up  into  the  air — absurd 
— up  to  the  hilt.  He  went  into  life,  as  you 
can  find  it  when  you  want  it,  with  the  zest 
of  a  young  giant.  It  had  been  one  long  series 
of  pursuits.  And  in  at  the  death  every  time. 
He  shrugged  his  chorus  to  the  strokes  of 
Doom.  "He  got  out  by  marriage — as  you 
see.  Just  in  time,  as  it  seemed.  She  was 
a  girl  of  eighteen — out  of  a  convent  school. 
It  was  twelve  or  more  years  ago.  Nearer 


38  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

fourteen,  I  should  say.  She  didn't  make  a 
fuss — either  from  pure  ignorance  or  because 
they  never  do.  For  they  don't,  you  know. 
If  once  they  began  that,  God  knows  where 
they  would  end — "  There  he  paused  and 
stroked  the  ash  off  his  cigar  against  the 
match-box.  He  rolled  the  glowing  stump 
about  in  his  fingers;  and  then  said  slowly 
and  with  great  distinctness,  "And  I  think 
he  would  be  a  bad  friend  to  a  woman  who 
taught  her  that  her  lot  might  be  very  much 
better  than  it  is — in  every  case." 

We  had  no  commentary  to  offer  upon 
this  dictum;  but  I  thought  of  my  grave-eyed 
friend  pacing  the  shores  of  the  lake. 

Meantime  I  had  been  observing  the  pair 
upon  whose  nature  and  lot  Van  Riiver  had 
been  moralizing.  They  sat  apart  in  a  recess 
by  the  staircase,  she  with  her  needles  and 
silk,  he  with  his  cigar.  I  admired  the  play 
of  her  beautiful  hands,  but  still  more  her  ex- 
traordinary patience.  At  the  allotted  mo- 
ment came  the  coffee  equipage  and  the  old 
brandy.  She  busied  herself  with  that,  serving 
him  but  not  herself,  and  then  resumed  her 
netting.  He,  apparently  at  ease,  literally 


ILLUMINATION  39 

drank  at  his  cigar,  and  inhaled  the  last  pint 
of  joy  from  it.  Yet  you  could  see  that  he 
kept  a  watchful  eye  for  his  grim,  unsleeping 
enemy,  and  gave  not  one  inch  of  ground. 
If  his  paper  slipped  from  his  knee  he  called 
up  his  forces  to  recover  it.  It  came  up  flut- 
tering like  a  rag  in  a  gale — but  it  came. 
She  did  not  help  him:  one  saw  that  he  would 
not  allow  that.  By  incredible  efforts  he 
accomplished  what  was  needful  with  the 
appearance  of  ease.  I  warmed  to  him  for 
his  courage  and  audacity;  and  when  he  be- 
gan to  play  patience,  and  at  every  shift  of 
a  card  had  to  risk  battle  and  rout — and 
nearly  always  triumphed — horrible  as  the 
flickering  business  was  to  watch,  I  felt  that 
I  could  have  been  proud  either  of  his-  friend- 
ship or  his  enmity.  He  was  no  shirker.  He 
faced  the  foe.  There  was  no  faltering.  The 
foe  would  pin  him  at  last;  but  he  would 
go  to  his  death  with  the  flag  flying. 

He  was  a  strong  man  armed,  with  his 
handsome,  galliard,  shining  face.  He  had 
kind,  blue,  humorous  eyes,  eyes  which  were 
kind  even  in  the  trap's  teeth,  and  did  not 
cease  their  laughing  scrutiny.  You  couldn't 


40  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

catch  him  out  anywhere.  He  was  ready  for 
you  at  all  points.  He  seemed  to  me  abound- 
ingly  clever  and  capable,  so  thoroughly 
awake  as  he  was  to  a  delicate  situation.  Oc- 
casionally, I  went  so  far  as  to  judge,  he  was 
foolhardy  in  his  gallantry;  he  took  risks 
which  were  heavy.  But  I  thought  I  could 
hear  his  apology.  "  See,"  he  might  well  be 
saying,  "see  how  it  is  that,  with  this  ghastly 
shackling  upon  me,  I  still  hold  this  lovely 
creature  at  a  nod.  There's  no  chain;  there's 
nothing  but  a  confident  look."  That  was 
true;  there  was  no  appeal.  "I  put  it  to  you. 
You  took  me;  here  I  am  as  you  see  me.  Well, 
what  are  we  to  make  of  it,  you  and  I?"  I 
am  not  saying  that  there  is  no  other  side  to 
this  brave  shield  of  his.  I  am  saying  that 
this  was  gallantry. 

Chevenix,  rendered  grave  by  Van  Riiver's 
reminiscences,  had  been  blinking  his  light 
eyelashes  over  them.  Then  he  said  that  he 
remembered  a  murder  case  where  the  defence 
was  something  like  this.  The  accused  said 
that  he  had  sat  opposite  the  murdered  woman 
for  something  like  twenty  years  without 
speaking.  It  had  become  a  habit.  They 


ILLUMINATION  41 

had  not  quarrelled,  but  they  had  nothing 
to  say;  so  they  didn't  speak.  Then,  one 
evening,  it  struck  him  like  a  fire-ball  from 
heaven,  "Lord  of  Life  and  Death,  I  shall 
have  to  sit  opposite  this  woman  for  twenty 
years  more  perhaps — and  neither  of  us  has 
a  word  to  say.  It  is  not  to  be  borne."  He 
yielded  to  the  impulse — and  he  killed  her. 

Van  Riiver  chuckled.  "Did  they  allow 
the  plea?" 

"They  did  not,"  said  Chevenix. 

"They  hanged  him?" 

"They  did." 

Van  Riiver  said,  "Perhaps  it  was  well. 
And  yet  it's  as  likely  a  form  of  madness  as 
any  other  that  leads  to  sudden  violence." 

"Mind  you,"  said  Chevenix,  "the  thought 
might  drive  anybody  mad.  What!  All 
silent  and  all  damned!" 

"Yes,"  said  Van  Riiver,  getting  up.  "But 
no  woman  would  have  had  the  thought  for 
a  moment.  It  would  have  seemed  quite  in 
the  order  of  things." 

Thereupon  he  left  us  and  crossed  the  room 
to  greet  our  pair.  Baron  von  Broderode 
gaily  held  out  his  left  hand.  The  Baroness 


42  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

smiled  up  at  him  from  her  work,  but  offered 
no  more  formal  greeting.  Van  Riiver  bowed 
deeply  to  her,  and  began  to  talk.  The  Baron 
laughed  and  joked,  but  never  ceased  for  one 
moment  his  running  battle.  Every  card 
that  he  moved  flickered  terribly  in  his  hand. 
We  watched  them  for  a  while.  Then  Chev- 
enix  said,  "Good  old  Hector.  He  should 
have  been  here.  He'd  have  been  interested. 
Come  and  play  French  pills.  I'll  take  you 


on.': 


Ill 

IMPLICATION 

WE  saw  nothing  of  Hector  that  night,  but 
before  it  was  ended  our  Dutch  acquaintance 
had  presented  Chevenix  and  me  formally 
to  the  Baron  and  his  fair  wife.  That  was 
exciting,  as  actual  contact  must  always  be, 
where  the  person  touched  has  been  the  ob- 
ject of  more  or  less  intense  speculation.  He 
bristles  at  every  point  with  the  darts  of  your 
surmises.  I  found  him,  as  I  had  expected, 
most  affable;  he  spoke  fluent,  idiomatic 
English — occasionally  at  fault.  He  rose  to 
greet  us — I  saw  his  brow  break  into  beads 
of  sweat  as  he  did  it:  but  do  it  he  would  and 
did.  He  said  that  he  was  delighted  to  see 
us,  and  I  really  thought  that  he  was.  She 
contented  herself  with  bending  her  beau- 
tiful head — an  act  like  that  of  a  princess 
bowing  from  a  carriage — but  by  and  by 
she  slid  into  the  conversation,  and  towards 
the  end  she  could  laugh  and  be  at  ease  with 
my  engaging,  red-headed  friend,  who,  with 

43 


44  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

a  casual  manner,  always  succeeded  in  getting 
interest,  because  he  always  gave  it. 

I  forget  what  we  all  talked  about — any- 
thing or  nothing,  as  people  do  in  hotels;  but 
I  do  remember  that  Chevenix  brought  in 
the  absent  Hector.  "A  very  serious  young 
man,"  he  told  the  Baroness.  "Malleson," 
he  said,  "is  a  man  who  thinks  that  he  was 
born  to  put  the  world  to  rights.  O  cursed 
spite!  I  beg  your  pardon — not  at  all.  He 
doesn't  mind  doing  it  in  the  least;  but  it 
weighs  upon  him  all  the  same.  He  feels  the 
responsibility.  The  time  is  slipping  by,  you 
see.  He  thinks  us  all  very  frivolous."  She 
was  prepared  for  his  examples;  she  could 
see  that  he  was  seething  with  anecdote — 
but  it  was  her  husband  who  spoke.  I  didn't 
think  he  had  been  listening. 

"How  is  he  getting  on — your  friend?"  he 
asked,  deeply  appreciative  of  the  nature  of 
the  man  thus  lightly  etched  in. 

Chevenix  tossed  his  head.  "He  wrestles 
with  it,  sir.  He's  out  and  about  now,  seeing 
that  the  lake  does  its  duty.  'Roll  on,  thou 
deep  and  dark  blue  ocean,  roll' — which  it 
does  not  fail  to  do,  with  Malleson's  encour- 


IMPLICATION  45 

agement.  Do  you  read  Byron?"  With  that 
he  turned  to  the  lady.  She  confessed  to 
having  read  the  poet — when  she  was  a  girl. 

"There's  nothing  Byronic  about  Hector," 
Chevenix  told  her,  "except  his  preoccupa- 
tion with  eternity.  Hector's  a  very  religious 
man.  He'll  end  up  a  Catholic,  I  don't 
doubt — and  then  he'll  be  all  right.  The 
Church,  you  see,  will  take  his  responsibilities 
from  him.  Byron  would  have  done  the  same, 
if  he'd  had  time." 

The  Baron  agreed.  :<You  are  right,  Mr. 
Chevenix,"  he  said.  "Voltaire  was  a  pose 
with  Byron.  He  wore  him  like  plate  armour. 
He  scorned  himself,  that  young  man,  and 
took  pains  to  be  scornful  of  the  world  in  order 
to  let  himself  down,  as  you  say.  There  never 
was  any  man  of  his  ability  and  force  who  got 
less  out  of  this  world  than  your  Lord  Byron." 
Here  he  drank  prodigiously  of  his  cigar. 

"There,"  said  Chevenix  to  me  as  we 
watched  him  heave  out  of  sight,  trailing  his 
feet  into  the  dusk  of  the  passage,  "there 
goes  a  man  who  will  squeeze  the  last  drops 
out  of  life."  The  implication  of  this  heedless 
remark  struck  me  all  of  a  heap,  as  the  com- 


46  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

panion  of  the  ruthless  Titan  turned  her 
head,  and  showed  us  her  tragic  profile.  From 
what  lives  was  he  not  squeezing  the  last 
drops?  I  was  able  to  appreciate  Hector's 
concern,  though,  unlike  Hector,  I  did  not 
propose  to  take  any  steps. 

Van  Riiver  chuckled  grimly.  "Oh,  he 
will  squeeze  life  with  anybody.  He  has  al- 
ways done  that." 

"Did  you  notice,"  Chevenix  said,  after 
a  moment  of  amused  reflection,  "how  he 
drank  his  cigar?" 

"That  was  how  he  drank — everything," 
Van  Riiver  said.  "He  went  over  them  like 
a  hot  wind." 

"Them?"  said  Chevenix,  with  a  lift  of 
the  eyebrow.  Van  Riiver  nodded. 

"Them,"  he  said.  "And  now  he's  footing 
the  bill." 

I  said  that  he  did  it  like  a  man.  Van 
Riiver  shrugged. 

"He  gets  a  lot  of  help,  you  know,"  he  said. 

I  thought  of  that  pale  and  tragic  profile, 
turned  sideways  as  if  looking  for  help.  I  was 
glad  that  Hector  had  not  been  there — for 
what  can  you  do? 


IMPLICATION  47 

In  the  morning  Chevenix  went  his  ways, 
entrenched  in  portmanteaux  and  kit-bags. 
I  saw  him  to  the  station  on  his  way  to  Rome. 
"Look  after  Hector,"  were  his  parting  words. 
"He'll  want  it.  There's  divine  simplicity 
pealing  in  that  lady's  eyes.  He'll  hear  it  as 
you  and  I  hear  the  dinner-gong." 

"I  know  he's  very  susceptible,"  I  said. 
"Put  it  down  to  youth.  And  women  are 
to  be  fallen  in  love  with." 

"Right,"  said  Chevenix.  "The  Catholics 
knew  what  they  were  about." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  I.  "Bless  you,  she's 
older  then  Hector." 

"She's  a  dangerous  age.  I'll  tell  you  a 
good  thing  I  read  somewhere.  I  don't  know 
who  said  it,  but  I  daresay  you  do.  'After 
forty  a  woman  gets  bored  with  virtue  and  a 
man  with  honesty." 

"Sydney  Smith  said  that,"  I  told  him. 
"But  be  just  to  our  friends.  Neither  of 
them  is  forty  yet." 

"She's  words  to  that  effect,"  said  Chev- 
enix, "and  as  for  him,  the  devil  of  it  is 
that  he'll  never  get  tired  of  honesty.  If  he  did 
he'd  be  harmless.  I  knew  a  man  once — 


48  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

We're  off.  I  leave  it  at  that.  So  long." 
He  waved  his  hand,  and  went  out,  veiled 
in  anecdote  to  the  last. 

I  found  Hector  at  his  coffee  in  the  sun. 
He  looked  sedate,  pre-occupied,  and  saluted 
me  remotely.  He  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
discuss  his  agitation  of  overnight,  and  it 
wasn't  for  me  to  begin  upon  it.  I  asked  him 
if  he  had  any  plans  for  the  day:  he  said, 
none.  I  asked  him  had  he  thought  of  our 
movements?  He  said  he  had  not.  I  was  by 
this  time  somewhat  ruffled  and  inclined  to 
damn  his  eyes  at  a  venture. 

I  said,  "We  should  have  been  glad  of 
your  company  last  night,  and  I  think  that 
you  would  have  been  glad  of  ours.  Van 
Riiver  was  very  interesting." 

"He  can  be,  I  know,"  Hector  said.  "He's 
a  wicked  old  sinner,  but  all  the  better  com- 
pany for  that." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "and  he  knows  everyone. 
That's  useful  sometimes." 

I  think  he  began  to  have  an  inkling.  He 
shot  me  a  moment's  glance,  then  deliber- 
ately drank  before  he  answered. 


IMPLICATION  49 

"Very  useful.  Did  he  find  some  acquaint- 
ance last  night?" 

"He  did,"  I  said,  "and  we  made  some." 

Hector's  sallow  skin  burned — a  sort  of 
brick-red  suffused  him. 

"The  von  Broderodes  are  friends  of  his. 
We  were  presented,  Chevenix  and  I." 

Hector's  hand  shook  as  he  filled  a  pipe. 
He  was  very  agitated. 

"My  dear  chap — "  he  began,  then  he 
started  and  stopped. 

"Look  here,  Hector,"  I  said,  "we'll  get 
out  of  this  place  as  soon  as  you  please — " 
He  began  to  fume. 

"You  may  do  as  you  like.  I  have  no  power 
to  stop  you.  I  had  better  tell  you  at  once 
that  I  have  no  intention  of  going,  and  that 
I  don't  recognize  any  right  in  the  world — " 

I  laughed  at  him;  a  stupid  thing  to  do. 
"You  wouldn't  recognize  it  if  you  saw  it 
hard  upon  your  nose,"  I  said.  "And  there 
is  no  right  in  the  matter,  if  you  come  to  that. 
But  I  have  rights  of  my  own  all  the  same, 
just  as  you  may  have;  and  if  you  believe  it 
your  right  to  languish  over  a  married  woman, 
I  am  sure  it  is  mine  to  avoid  the  spectacle. 

4 


50  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  shall  go  to  Milan  and  make  preparations. 
You'll  pick  me  up  when  you  want  me." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Hector  quietly 
and  with  immense  gravity,  "I  never  wanted 
you  more  than  I  do  now.  You  are  the  best 
friend  I  have  in  the  world — and  God  knows 
I  want  a  friend." 

He  touched  me.  I  felt  sorry  for  him.  He 
was  an  ass,  but  he  was  such  a  generous  ass. 
Besides  that,  I  couldn't  resist  him.  I  ought 
to  have  known  better,  and  I  did;  but  he  had 
me  on  my  weak  side.  So  instead  of  scoffing 
at  him,  as  I  should  have  done,  I  took  him 
for  a  walk  and  had  it  out  of  him. 

He  had  fallen  in  love  with  this  lady,  in- 
stantly and  plumply  in  love — but  in  the 
modest,  reverential  way  which  becomes  a 
young  man  of  his  sort.  After  all,  young  men 
are  at  their  best  when  they  are  in  love,  and 
before  there  is  any  question  of  the  hunter's 
instinct  being  aroused.  He  talked  about 
her  as  he  might  have  talked  about  his  mother, 
if  he  had  had  one  alive;  half  mother,  half 
goddess,  he  made  her  out.  He  had  spent 
the  night  on  the  mountain  side,  he  told  me, 
and  had  hardly  known  it  was  night  before 


IMPLICATION  51 

the  dawn  came.  "I  felt,"  he  said,  "that 
the  moment  of  a  lifetime  was  come  upon 
me.  I  felt  the  call — for  I  must  tell  you  what 
I  suppose  you  haven't  known,  that  our  eyes 
met  there  in  the  hall  across  all  those  babbling 
idiots.  They  did,  you  know.  Whatever 
may  come  of  it — and  God  knows  what  that 
may  be — we  are  not  the  same  people.  You 
can't  explain  these  things,  you  can't  account 
for  them.  It's  as  if  we  had  invisible  tenta- 
cles streaming  out  of  us,  waving,  spearing 
into  the  air.  These  never  touch  but  what 
is  sympathetic:  they  curl  and  writhe  and 
avoid  all  else.  But  by  the  thrill  that  ran  all 
through  me,  and  by  the  divine  illumination 
of  her  face  at  that  moment,  I  swear  to  you 
that  she  and  I  touched  each  other.  The 
thing's  done  and  can't  be  undone." 

I  took  it  lightly,  though  with  heavy  fore- 
boding. "All  right,"  I  said,  "it's  done  then. 
But  this  is  a  cut-and-dried  world,  after  all, 
and  there's  a  Baron  of  experience  in  the 
way.  No  tentacles  streaming  out  of  Baron 
Eugene." 

"Is  his  name  Eugene?"  Hector  asked  me 
with  great  interest. 


52  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"So  Van  Riiver  tells  me,"  I  answered. 
"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  no  reason  whatever.  Only  it's  odd, 
because  I  believe  that  her  name  is  Eugenia." 

"But  it  isn't,"  I  said.  "I  happened  to 
see  her  name  on  an  envelope.  It  is  Helena. 
I  hope  yours  isn't  going  to  be  Paris." 

He  was  muttering  to  himself.  "I  thought 
it  was  Eugenia.  It  is  Eugenia  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned." 

I  said  rather  brutally,  "  She  must  be  thirty 
at  least.  She's  been  married  twelve  years, 
and  Van  Riiver  says  that  she  was  a  girl  when 
he  married  her." 

He  wasn't  listening  to  me.  I  heard  him 
say  "Eugenia"  once  or  twice  softly  to  him- 
self. He  was  very  far  gone. 

I  offered  to  introduce  him,  but  he  said 
that  wasn't  necessary.  I  told  him  that  she 
wouldn't  drop  her  handkerchief  for  him,  not 
being  that  kind.  He  said  that  I  didn't  under- 
stand these  things.  When  I  offered  to 
retail  him  some  more  of  the  Dutchman's 
gossip,  he  cut  me  off  short.  "I'm  sure  you 
mean  well,  you  are  the  best  friend  I  have. 
But,  you  see,  you  and  I  are  at  cross-purposes 


IMPLICATION  53 

over  this.  You  think  that  I  am  going  to 
make  love  to  her,  and  very  reasonably  want 
to  head  me  off.  Well,  I  am  not.  You  don't 
make  what  already  exists.  I  have  made  all 
the  love  I  intend  to  make  her.  The  thing 
is  done." 

"Well,  what  do  you  intend  to  do  next?" 
I  asked  him. 

He  said  he  didn't  know.  He  should  see 
her  every  day.  That  was  all  he  could  be 
sure  of  at  present.  I  left  it  at  that. 

As  it  fell  out,  Van  Riiver  caught  us  that 
afternoon  as  we  returned  'from  a  long  walk, 
and  before  he  knew  where  he  was  Hector 
was  presented  to  his  Eugenia.  He  was 
handsomely  confused,  she  serenely  uncon- 
scious of  waving  tentacles,  to  all  appearance. 
The  Baron  was  cordial  and  rose  up  on  his 
two  sticks  like  the  unwearied  Titan  he  was. 
First  he  lifted  his  hat  with  a  flourish  which 
must  have  cost  him  something;  then  he  held 
out  his  hand.  "I  am  very  glad  to  meet  Mr. 
Malleson.  The  more  so  because  I  have  his 
name  by  heart.  It  must  have  been  a  relation 
of  yours  who  was  a  friend  of  mine  long  ago. 


54  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  was  in  diplomacy,  and  so  also  I.  First 
in  Madrid — that  was  in  '90;  and  then  in 
Petersburg.  But  he  is  dead — and  I  am 
sorry." 

That  was  what  he  said,  with  great  ease 
and  friendly  interest.  Hector  heard  him 
in  a  stare  which  showed  me  that  he  himself 
was  not  at  all  interested.  He  recovered  him- 
self just  in  time  to  avoid  an  awkwardness. 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  "you  mean  my  uncle 
Bellasys.  Yes,  he  is  dead.  He  went  to 
Teheran  on  a  mission,  and  died  out  there." 

"He  was  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  Baron, 
warming  to  his  reminiscences — "a  good 
fellow.  What  you  call  a  cool  cucumber.  I 
will  tell  you  a  tale  of  your  Uncle  Bellasys. 
It  was  at  Nice,  in  the  earthquake.  He  was 
shaving  at  his  window,  when,  all  in  a  moment, 
he  sees  a  factory  chimney  down  in  the  town 
break  off  short  like  a  carrot  and  fall.  At  the 
same  moment  all  the  walls  of  the  room  begin 
to  sway  about  like  seaweed  in  the  tide.  The 
people  all  run  out  into  the  garden  in  their 
nightgowns — the  trees  begin  to  crack  and 
the  chimneys  to  tumble.  But  your  Uncle 
Bellasys — he  goes  on  shaving."  Hector  tak- 


IMPLICATION  55 

ing  it  modestly — as  any  one  would  take 
praises  of  his  uncle — the  Baron  turned  glow- 
ing to  Van  Riiver.  "Hey,  Van  Riiver,  what 
do  you  say?  You  knew  Bellasys  Malle- 
son — hey?  He  was  a  cool  cucumber." 

I  enjoyed  the  cool  cucumber,  Van  Riiver 
applauded  the  uncle,  and  we  all  became 
very  friendly.  Hector  sat  by  his  Eugenia — 
I  mean,  of  course,  the  Baroness  Helena — 
and  received  tea  from  her.  I  didn't  observe 
much  intercourse  between  them,  though  no 
doubt  the  tentacles  were  at  work.  The 
Baron,  who  was  in  great  form,  never  left 
them  alone  for  long  together;  but  I  was  in- 
terested to  observe  that  he  rarely  addressed 
his  wife.  It  was  Hector  whom  he  called  in 
to  the  general  conversation. 

I  had  a  few  words  with  her,  and  judged 
that  she  was  of  a  cold  temperament.  If  she 
had  ever  suffered,  that  was  all  over.  She 
had  been  broken  in,  had  found  her  line  of 
least  resistance  and,  like  a  wise  woman,  stuck 
to  it.  All  this  comforted  me.  I  doubted 
whether  Hector  would  get  her  off  the  track, 
or  be  tempted  off  it  himself.  There  were 
possibilities — there  always  are  possibilities 


56  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

where  a  man  is  in  earnest  and  a  woman 
bored.  But  I  judged  by  her  eyes,  which  were 
direct,  grey,  and  very  cool.  You  could  see 
the  thought  concentrating  in  them  before 
she  spoke.  The  pupils  palpitated,  enlarged 
and  contracted  like  sea-anemones.  Finally 
she  volunteered  a  fact  which  in  my  opinion 
settled  it.  She  had  a  child — in  Vienna — a 
girl.  I  was  interested,  and  allowed  myself 
to  appear  so. 

"You  should  have  brought  her  to  Gironeg- 
gio,"  I  said.  "How  she  would  have  liked 
these  mountains!" 

"Yes,  but  it  was  not  possible,"  she  an- 
swered. "She  has  her  tutors  and  govern- 
esses. She  is  very  ambitious.  And  she  knows 
the  mountains  very  well.  Every  year  she 
is  in  the  Tyrol." 

"She  is  ambitious!  It  is  early  days  to 
encourage  ambition,"  I  suggested. 

"She  is  ten,"  said  the  Baroness  with  a 
steady  look. 

And  so  on,  and  so  on!  I  don't  think  that 
she  was  interested  in  me,  and  don't  wonder 
either.  She  was  a  lovely  woman,  but  not  my 
kind.  I  don't  like  cold  women,  and  have 


IMPLICATION  57 

no  use  whatever  for  women  who  don't  like 
me.  A  few  more  general  remarks  found  me 
at  the  end  of  my  tether.  I  excused  myself 
in  the  usual  manner — letters  to  write — and 
went  off  for  a  bath,  leaving  Malleson  with 
his  lady. 

After  dinner  he  was  with  them  again. 


IV 
INTENTION 

I  SHALL  summarize  rapidly  a  week's  work, 
and  come  to  a  curious  episode  which  marks 
a  definite  stage  in  my  history.  It  was  a  week 
in  which  I  had  to  see  my  ingenuous  friend 
get  enmeshed  in  what  he  was  pleased  to  call 
the  Baroness'  tentacles,  though,  to  do  the 
fair  lady  justice,  she  made  no  visible  exer- 
tions toward  it.  Indeed,  if  tentacles  there 
were,  they  were  Baron  Eugene's,  which  could 
not  have  enough  of  poor  Hector's.  He 
seemed  to  have  no  objections  at  all  to 
his  wife  obtaining  a  cavalier  servant.  The 
marvel  was  that  she  hadn't  half  a  dozen  to 
do  the  cushion-carrying,  chair-moving,  bell- 
ringing  which  he  himself,  poor  chap,  was 
prevented  from  doing.  Malleson  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  tender  business,  and  had  plenty 
of  urbanity  to  spare  for  the  Baron.  So  they 
made  a  pleasant  little  party  of  three. 

He  got  very  little  out  of  it  but  the  con- 
sciousness  of   devoted   attentions.     He  was 
58 


INTENTION  59 

hardly  ever  alone  with  her,  hardly  ever  ex- 
changed— tentacles  apart — half-a-dozen  words 
with  her  which  the  Baron  didn't  hear:  none, 
I  am  certain,  which  the  Baron  was  not  in- 
tended to  hear.  Nor  were  there  any  of  those 
conscious  glances  to  be  intercepted,  which 
really  tell  a  man  more  of  the  state  of  a  case 
than  all  the  words  of  a  tete-d-tete  put  to- 
gether. Hector,  who  had  ordinarily  about 
as  much  tact  as  a  tortoise,  seemed  to  have 
understood  for  once  with  whom  he  was  deal- 
ing. Helena  was  divinely  simple,  as  he  had 
said,  and  therefore  divinely  guarded.  An 
angel  with  a  sword  stood  upon  her  quiet 
brows.  Hector  must  have  seen  him  there, 
and  respected  the  blazoned  cross  on  his 
shield.  But  I  know  that  he  was  deeply  in 
love  with  her,  because  he  was  so  happy. 

He  was  at  that  stage  of  love  when  the 
consciousness  of  love  itself  is  a  triumph.  It 
is  the  elated  feeling  which  a  poet  has  when 
he  has  written  a  poem,  which  a  hen  has  when 
she  has  laid  an  egg.  You  go  clucking  about; 
you  lift  your  feet  up;  your  head  is  in  the 
stars.  Such  a  spectacle  is  always  exhilarat- 
ing— I  speak  for  myself,  who  am  never  bored 


60  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

with  an  ardent  lover.  Hector  was  one.  He 
asked  nothing,  expected  nothing  and  got 
nothing.  And  as  he  too  was  innocent,  it 
never  occurred  to  him,  at  this  stage  of  affairs, 
to  consider  curiously,  to  let  his  imagination 
range  over  the  lives  of  these  two  ill-accorded 
beings — this  stricken  hulk  which  had  so  little 
left  him  of  mannishness  but  mannish  appe- 
tite, and  this  late-flowering,  bound  and  nobly 
reticent  lady.  Although  his  interest  in  Helena 
had  been  heightened,  deepened,  inflamed  by 
her  hard  fate,  remember  that  it  had  been 
there  before.  Her  beauty  had  inspired  it — 
and  it  was  her  beauty  which  washed  out  that 
temporary  fever  of  interest,  and  remained 
as  a  holy  and  purely  delightful  possession  of 
his.  I  speak  of  the  first  week  of  his  admitted 
passion  for  Helena.  What  happened  after 
that,  while  I  was  away,  I  shall  have  to  report 
before  I  have  done  with  this  chapter  of  events. 

My  own  intercourse  with  the  von  Bro- 
derodes  was  casual  and  intermittent.  We 
saluted  each  other  when  we  met.  The  Baron 
used  to  wave  his  hand  to  me  across  the  dining- 
room;  once  or  twice  a  look  passed  between  us 


INTENTION  61 

which,  on  his  side  at  least,  was  one  of  intelli- 
gence to  impart.  He  seemed  to  be  telling 
me  that  he  knew  all  about  it.  And  I'll  go 
bail  that  he  did.  He  was  so  very  much  on 
the  spot,  as  Chevenix  would  have  said.  His 
was  the  whip  hand,  you  see.  He  drove  on 
the  snaffle,  and  she  had  a  tender  mouth.  He 
knew  all  about  that;  and  I  thought  that  he 
wished  me  to  know  that  he  did.  More  than 
once,  certainly,  I  saw  his  watchful  blue  eyes 
fixed  upon  me — to  see  how  I  was  taking 
Hector's  devotion  and  her  calm  acceptance 
of  it.  It  seems  absurd — but  once  I  am  morally 
certain  that  he  winked.  It  was  when  Hector 
was  holding  silk  for  her  to  wind.  To  be  sure, 
a  man  does  not  look  at  his  best  when  he  is  at 
that  duty,  and  assuredly,  if  he  is  not  a  lover, 
he  is  a  fool,  according  to  Baron  von  Bro- 
derode. 

One  day — it  was  in  the  garden  and  after 
tea — it  so  happened  that  I  found  myself 
walking  with  the  Baroness.  I  am  not  sure 
that  she  did  not  contrive  it.  Hector  was  held 
in  talk  by  the  Baron,  and  she,  with  what  was 
practically  an  invitation,  got  up  and  began 
to  walk  the  grass.  I  followed  her. 


62  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

She  began  to  question  me  about  Hector's 
people — with  really  very  little  preface.  She 
said  that  she  liked  him  very  much;  she  felt 
sure  that  he  must  be  "noble,"  because  he 
was  so  sincere,  and  took  so  much  for  granted. 
I  told  her  that  he  was  what  she  would  call 
noble,  but  pointed  out  that  in  Britain  we  had 
both  nobility  and  rank.  Hector's  rank,  I 
said,  was  not  very  great — not  so  great  as  her 
own — but  his  nobility  was  as  fine  as  you  please. 
Sir  Roderick,  I  told  her,  was  a  kind  of  petty 
king  in  his  own  country. 

She  pondered  this.  What  did  I  mean, 
exactly?  I  told  her  that  there  were  some  three 
or  four  thousand  people  who  would  profess  it 
their  duty  to  shed  their  blood  for  Sir  Roderick 
Malleson;  and  that  when  Sir  Roderick  died, 
Hector  would  be  Sir  Hector,  and  might  look 
for  the  same  devotion. 

She  said  that  that  was  like  Hungary,  and 
that  her  own  country  had  been  like  that  too, 
once  upon  a  time. 

I  said,  "You  are  a  Pole,  Baroness?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  a  Pole,  but  there  is 
no  Poland  now." 

She  returned  to  the  Mallesons.    Hector  had 


INTENTION  63 

brothers,  she  had  been  told.  Did  I  know 
them?  I  told  her  that  I  knew  them  all. 
Hector  was  the  eldest.  Then  there  were 
Nigel,  a  sailor,  Spenser,  a  priest,  Wynyard 
and  Pierpoint,  who.  were  twins,  and  Patrick. 
There  were  no  daughters. 

Were  they  much  alike?  she  wanted  to 
know.  I  told  her  that  physically  they  were 
divided  into  camps.  Hector,  Nigel  the  sailor, 
and  Patrick,  who  was  at  Oxford,  were  all 
dark,  like  their  mother,  who  had  been  a  dark, 
slim,  grey-eyed  woman.  The  middle  three 
favoured  the  father,  tall  and  broad-shouldered, 
fair-haired  young  men.  I  told  her  that  these 
three  had  been  a  great  trio  in  their  day. 

She  bent  her  brows,  "But  their  day  is 
not  over?" 

I  told  her,  no  indeed.  But  Spenser,  who 
had  been  brought  up  by  the  Jesuits,  was  now 
a  priest  and  in  China;  and  as  for  the  twins, 
they  had  separated  widely  as  they  had  grown 
up.  Pierpoint  was  a  soldier,  and  Wynyard  a 
mighty  hunter.  Fine  young  men  both,  but 
very  unlike  in  character. 

She  absorbed  my  information.  "Tell  me 
more  about  them,"  she  said  very  simply.  I 


64  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

gave  her  thumb-nail  sketches  of  Pierpoint's 
gallant  ways,  and  of  Wynyard,  the  lean  and 
silent.  Then  I  threw  her  off  a  portrait  of  the 
old  chief  himself.  "You  would  like  him,"  I 
assured  her.  "He  is  the  finest  and  the  young- 
est of  them  all.  His  faith  never  fails  him. " 

"His  faith  in  what?"  she  asked. 

"In  himself,"  I  said.  "He  is  in  his  way  a 
king  of  men.  Indeed,  he  is  actually  that. 
There  was  the  case  of  a  man  in  his  country 
who  got  a  summons  for  debt.  He  brought  it 
up  to  the  chief  to  know  what  he  ought  to  do 
about  it.  I  assure  you  that  the  King's  writ 
runs  there  on  sufferance." 

She  wasn't  good  at  little  jokes.  She  took 
that  quite  sedately.  "But  your  friend,  Mr. 
Hector — "  she  began  again — "he  is  the  heir, 
as  you  say.  Do  they — has  he  got  authority — 
I  don't  know  how  to  put  it,  but  I  suppose  he 
would  have  to  exercise  some  sort  of  authority 
in  such  a  house?" 

"He  hasn't  been  called  upon  for  any  as  yet, " 
I  said,  smiling,  "but  I  think  that  he  could  be 
trusted.  There  has  been  no  mutiny  so  far." 

She  trembled  upon  her  next  question.  "His 
father — are  they  good  friends?" 


INTENTION  65 

I  didn't  know  where  she  was  leading  me — 
I  evaded.  "Oh,  well,  you  know,  he's  the  heir, 
and  of  course  there  are  difficulties — but  on 
the  whole  I  don't  think  they  do  so  badly." 
I  wasn't  going  to  tell  her  everything — for  in- 
stance, that  Sir  Roderick  was  only  fond  of 
Hector  when  he  wasn't  there.  The  truth,  of 
course,  was  that  they  were  too  much  alike 
ever  to  get  on. 

Presently  she  began  again — and  I  began  to 
see  where  I  was.  "Mr.  Malleson  has  invited 
us  to  Inveroran,"  she  said,  "and  I  think  my 
husband  would  like  to  go.  But  I  feel  that  it  is 
rather  a  long  journey  for  him.  Nothing  is 
decided." 

"I  am  sure  you  would  like  Inveroran,"  I 
told  her.  "The  place  is  really  magnificent — 
fourteenth  century,  most  of  it;  and  as  for 
the  scenery — !  No  doubt,  after  your  Car- 
pathians, your  Dolomites  and  your  Alps,  you 
would  be  exacting  in  that  matter;  but  you 
must  remember  that  in  Scotland  they  have 
the  sea  as  a  foreground. " 

She  smiled  rather  bleakly.  "I  don't  think 
I  am  exacting,"  she  said.  Poor  dear!  I 
should  think  she  wasn't. 


66  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

By  that  time  we  were  close  to  the  others, 
and  our  conversation  died  out. 

This  was  how  the  affair  stood  when  I 
went  away  and  left  Hector  behind  me.  I 
really  wanted  to  do  some  work  in  Lombardy; 
I  was  no  good  to  him  where  I  was,  and  with 
matters  in  that  trim;  moreover,  I  admit,  I 
judged  that  all  was  well.  I  trusted  in  her 
discretion  as  much  as  in  his  simplicity — but 
it  seems  that  while  you  can  push  simplicity 
to  the  edge  of  a  precipice  you  must  not 
always  expect  it  to  drop  meekly  off  into 
the  inane.  I  hadn't  taken  the  Baron's  bra- 
vado into  account — and  perhaps  he  hadn't 
either,  himself.  To  put  it  quite  shortly,  after 
ten  days'  absence  I  had  a  telegram  from 
Hector,  asking  me  to  meet  him  in  Milan 
without  fail. 

I  hate  the  place,  and  was  being  cut  off  just 
when  my  work  was  beginning  to  arrange  itself 
—  was  doing  a  map  of  Roman  Lombardy — 
but  of  course  I  went. 

I  found  him  pacing  the  hall  of  the  hotel, 
jumping  from  lozenge  to  lozenge  of  the 


INTENTION  67 

chequered  pavement,  in  a  pair  of  red  morocco 
slippers.  His  hands  behind  his  back,  his 
head  bent,  his  brows  knitted,  he  seemed  to 
be  concentrated  upon  his  ridiculous  exercise. 
He  looked  like  a  young  crane  learning  his 
father's  daily  antics.  It  was  some  time 
before  he  saw  me  watching  him,  and  when 
he  did,  he  stood  where  he  was,  balancing  on 
one  foot  (exactly  covering  a  black  lozenge) 
and  in  his  turn  looked  at  me. 

"Hulloa, "  I  said —  we  had  the  place  practi- 
cally to  ourselves.  There  was  a  page-boy 
asleep  in  a  corner,  his  arms  on  the  desk. 

I  got  a  rocking-chair  and  sat  in  it.  I  lit  a 
cigarette.  "Well?"  I  said.  "What  is  it? 
A  crisis?" 

He  hovered  about  me.  "Yes,"  he  said. 
"I  don't  know  what  to  do  next." 

I  strangled  a  guffaw  at  birth.  "You  must 
tell  me  first  what  you  have  done  last.  I 
suppose  you  have  made  love  to  her?" 

He  shook  this  away,  as  if  it  were  water  in 
his  ear.  "Don't  talk  rot,  please.  I  haven't 
come  to  this  beastly  town,  or  pulled  you  into 
it,  to  talk  about  love-making.  This  is  a  matter 
of  life  and  death." 


68  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Whose  life,  my  dear?"  I  said.  "Whose 
death?" 

"Her  life, "  he  told  me  then,  "and  anybody's 
death  you  please." 

This  annoyed  me.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  minor  poetry,  Hector,"  I  said.  "Now 
look  here.  I  must  get  you  along.  You  have 
either  said  something  that  you  ought  not  to 
have  said  or 

"She  knows,  of  course,  that  I  love  her. 
But  that's  an  old  story,"  said  Hector.  "I 
suppose  she  knew  that  the  first  evening." 

"By  wireless,"  I  said.  "By  your  tentacles 
— and  hers,  of  course. " 

He  nodded.  "That's  it.  Yes,  of  course. 
But  she  knows  it  explicitly  now.  I  told  her. " 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  Well,  what  did 
she  say?" 

He  became  inspired.  "  Such  women  have  no 
need  to  speak.  She  looked  at  me.  I  read  every 
word  she  said.  I  accepted  every  command  she 
laid  upon  me.  There  was  nothing  to  do.  I 
had  said  to  her,  'You  know  that  I  love  you. 
You  know  that  I  would  die  for  you.'  I  read 
her  answer.  'Yes,  I  know  it.  But  to  die  for  me 
would  be  too  easy.  I  ask  you  to  live  for  me. ' " 


INTENTION  69 

I  held  my  tongue  from  handling  this  flip- 
pantly. Poor  fellow,  it  was  serious  enough 
this  time.  Presently  I  said  that  I  considered 
her  answer  a  good  one.  "If  you  have  read 
her  message  rightly — and  I  expect  you  have 
— you  can  only  obey.  But  there's  more  to 


come. " 


"There  is,"  he  said.  "I  tell  you  plainly, 
I  don't  know  what  to  do. " 

He  became  very  much  agitated.  He  took 
a  quick  turn  over  the  hall;  and  when  he  came 
back  he  seemed  panic-stricken.  He  came  to 
me  all  alight  with  the  truth.  His  eyes  were 
like  fires — fires  in  daylight — for  he  had  no 
colour. 

"  I  must  tell  you, "  he  said,  breathing  short. 
"The  man's  a  ghoul." 

I  had  nothing  to  say.  I  waited.  But  I 
remembered  what  Van  Riiver  had  said,  on 
the  night  of  our  first  acquaintance  with  the 
pair,  about  squeezing  the  last  drops  out  of  life. 

"He  lives  on  her.  He  fastens  himself. 
Day  by  day.  Andromeda  white  at  the  stake — 
enfolded — day  by  day. " 

I  kept  my  eyes  upon  him.  With  the  eyes 
only  I  inquired  of  his  trouble. 


70  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  answered  my  unvoiced  question.  "Yes, 
he  does.  She  is  his,  body  and  blood.  Seven 
years  of  it — seven  years — "  Incoherence 
followed,  which  I  don't  attempt  to  put  down. 

He  had  fought  with  it  for  nearly  a  week. 
I'll  undertake  to  maintain  that  he  fought 
desperately,  that  it  was  a  tooth-and-nail 
business.  But  it  beat  him,  and  changed 
everything.  The  affair  would,  but  for  that, 
have  run  a  normal  course.  He  would  have 
adored  her  near  and  far  for  a  season;  but  with 
the  fair  one  in  Austria  and  the  swain  in  Scot- 
land or  parts  adjacent,  that  season  would  not 
have  been  a  long  one.  But  now  there  was 
something  added.  The  imagination  was  in- 
flamed beyond  quenching.  The  first  mo- 
mentary fire — when  he  saw  the  man  come 
dragging  himself  down  the  passage  in  pursuit 
— had  been  a  flicker.  His  native  whole- 
someness  had  put  that  out.  Not  so  now. 
He  knew  the  facts. 

I  did  what  I  could  for  him,  all  that  an  older 
and  cooler  head  can  do  for  a  man  in  such  a 
state.  But  he  fought  me  all  along  the  line. 

I  said,  "You  have  done  a  fatal  thing.  You 
have  looked  where  you  ought  not " 


INTENTION  71 

"It's  not  true,"  he  said  hotly.  "He  took 
me  in — to  show  me  a  photograph." 

"Very  well,  I'll  admit  it,"  I  told  him,  "but 
still  I  say  that  you  should  have  refused  to 
consider.  That,  believe  me,  is  the  only 
possible  course.  That's  the  way  of  sanity. 
Don't  ask  me  how  people  feel  about  these 
things.  We've  agreed  to  put  a  sanctity  about 
life.  What  is  a  sanctity  but  a  hedge?  Woe 
to  him  who  peers  through.  Very  properly 
he  gets  the  worst  of  it.  Now  here,  you  can 
do  nothing — except  go  away.  You've  done 
that — and  I  hope  you'll  stick  to  it. " 

He  was  jumping  about — all  around  me. 
"I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  yet.  I  know 
that  I  must  do  something. " 

"What  on  earth — "  I  began  to  say. 

He  said,  "There  are  plenty  of  things  that 
I  might  do.  I  think  she  knows  it." 

"She  may  very  well  fear  the  only  thing 
that  you  could  do, "  I  told  him. 

He  simply  laughed  at  me:  a  mirthless  laugh. 
"Oh,  you  fool,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  to 
do  anything  to  her.  Do  you  think  I  can't 
be  trusted?  You  ought  to  know  me  by  this 
time. " 


72  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Then,  what  do  you  want  with  her?"  I 
asked  him. 

"I  want  her  to  be  free,"  he  said.  "As 
free  as  the  wind.  You  may  say  what  you 
please  about  your  sanctified  hedges;  but  surely 
you  see  that  every  soul  is  responsible  to  itself. 
The  hedge  is  there — from  birth.  It  is  not  I 
who  violate  it.  God  help  her,  that  was  done 
long  ago. " 

We  lunched,  and  I  got  some  more  positive 
information  out  of  him.  The  von  Broderodes 
had  left  Gironeggio.  He  had  gone  to  Galicia 
and  was  going  on  from  there  to  Petersburg; 
thence  to  Moscow,  where  he  had  many  friends 
and  would  stay  for  a  month  at  least.  He  had 
his  man  with  him,  and  the  Italian  woman, 
Teresa  Visconti,  without  whom  he  never 
travelled  a  yard.  She  was  to  be  in  Vienna 
with  the  child.  In  the  autumn  they  were  all 
coming  to  Inveroran.  The  Baron  intended 
to  shoot,  it  seems. 

In  this  state  of  affairs,  what  did  Hector 
intend  to  do?  He  said  that  he  should  go 
home,  he  thought.  She  was  happy  where 
she  was — which  was  all  he  seemed  to  care 


INTENTION  73 

about.  He  should  certainly  not  go  to  Vienna. 
She  wouldn't  like  it — nor  would  he.  Yes,  he 
intended  to  write  to  her.  He  had  done  so 
already,  but  she  hadn't  answered  him  yet. 
He  didn't  care  if  she  did — much. 

His  passion  had  left  him.  He  was  depressed 
and  despondent. 

I  said,  "I  hope  you  mean  to  have  me  at 
Inveroran.  Your  friends  interest  me  very 
much.  I  expect  to  see  some  fine  shooting 
from  the  Baron." 

He  drearily  agreed  with  me.  "I  imagine 
that  he  has  shot  most  things  shootable  in  his 
day,"  he  said.  "I  don't  suppose  he  has 
missed  much." 

"  You  are  not  in  the  mood  to  do  him  justice, " 
I  said.  "Personally,  I  admire  him.  He's 
putting  up  a  great  fight  for  it.  You'll  see, 
he'll  go  down  with  his  colours  nailed  to  the 
mast." 

Hector  turned  rather  green,  and  shut  his 
eyes.  "We  won't  talk  about  him  just  now," 
he  said;  and  then,  "Damn  him — he's  a 
ghoul." 


V 
INVERORAN 

THE  famous  prayer,  "Bless,  we  beseech  Thee, 
O  Lord,  Great  and  Lesser  Cumbrae,  and  the 
adjacent  islands  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland," 
may  well  have  been  put  up  at  Inveroran, 
where,  as  I  happen  to  know,  the  King  of 
England  was  looked  upon  as  a  neighbouring 
monarch.  It  was  Sir  Roderick's  factor  who 
remarked  to  me,  on  the  occasion  of  a  royal 
visit,  when,  after  a  Highland  gathering,  his 
Majesty  drove  off,  accompanied  by  his  host, 
"They'll  be  glad  to  be  by  themselves,  no 
doubt."  I  must  say  that  I  like  that  sort  of 
thing.  Race  interests  me  more  than  anything 
in  the  world;  and  up  there  you  get  it  pure 
and  strong.  You  feel  a  very  long  way  from 
England  at  Inveroran. 

The  Castle  stands  finely  on  the  rising  ground 
above  the  bay,  which  has  so  narrow  an  entrance 
that  it  has  all  the  appearance  of  an  inland 
water.  Below  the  gates  of  the  policies  the 
little  white  town  begins,  and  straggles  down 

74 


INVERORAN  75 

to  the  quay  and  harbour.  A  steamer  from 
Glasgow  puts  in  twice  a  week  in  the  summer, 
once  a  week  in  the  winter,  and  when  south- 
westerly winds  are  blowing  very  often  not 
that.  The  moors  stretch  out  in  a  demi-lune 
on  either  side  of  you;  and  then  over  the 
first  ridge  you  come  to  the  deer  forest.  They 
say  that  you  would  hardly  ride  out  of  Malleson 
land  in  a  day  if  you  chose  to  go  north-east. 
Personally,  I  have  never  tried.  I  am  no 
sportsman  myself,  and  have  no  need  to  pretend 
to  be.  It  used  to  be  one  of  the  minor  afflic- 
tions of  poor  Hector's  life-days  that,  next  in 
succession  as  he  was,  he  was  an  extremely 
bad  performer  with  the  rifle,  while  his  younger 
brothers  were  of  the  best.  Wynyard,  espe- 
cially, was  a  crack  shot. 

They  were  all  there  for  the  shooting  that 
year,  except  Nigel  the  sailor,  who  was  at 
Malta,  and  Spenser  the  priest,  still  a  mission- 
ary and  martyr-elect  in  China.  Wynyard 
was  there,  as  always,  and  in  first-rate  form, 
and  Pierpoint,  the  splendid  young  man,  whom 
some  of  us  called  George  IV,  because  he  had 
the  flushed  and  triumphant  look  of  Lawrence's 
portrait  of  the  youthful  monarch,  and  some 


76  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

the  Apollo  Belvedere;  and  young  Patrick, 
too,  a  cool  hand — or,  as  von  Broderode  would 
say,  a  cool  cucumber.  I  told  him  that  joke 
before  the  visitors  came,  and  it  was  the  aim 
of  his  soul  to  make  him  say  it.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  young  ass  said  it  himself  before 
the  Baron  had  been  in  the  place  an  hour, 
and  the  Baron  spotted  it  instantly  as  a  wrong 
idiom.  He  turned  it  very  cleverly  on  Pat: 
"What  you  call  a  cool  cucumber,"  he  used  to 
say  to  him,  fixing  him  with  his  galliard  blue 
eye.  That  is  only  one  of  a  thousand  instances 
when  von  Broderode  turned  a  retreat  into 
a  victory.  How  the  man  had  time,  where  he 
found  zest  for  such  little  affairs,  was  a  marvel 
to  me. 

There  were  the  usual  sort  of  people  there 
to  meet  them.  Some  off-hand  girls,  very 
sketchily  dressed,  rather  cynical  and  extremely 
wiry;  their  mothers  or  not,  as  the  case  might 
be — there's  no  rule;  a  couple  of  colonels 
who  shot  all  day  and  played  bridge  all  night. 
One  of  them  made  money  at  it — and  "By 
Gad,  I  want  it,"  he  told  me,  and  I  believed 
him.  Then  there  were  Lord  Mark,  who  is  a 
Malleson  uncle  by  the  mother's  side,  and  his 


INVERORAN  77 

wife,  American  and  rather  stodgy.  There 
were  others,  but  they  don't  matter — youth 
from  Oxford,  speechless  to  the  likes  of  me, 
but  very  eloquent  at  side-tables.  And  that's 
all. 

I  was  there  before  the  von  Broderodes 
came,  when,  in  fact,  there  was  daily  and  gay 
speculation  about  them.  To  Patrick  he  was 
the  "German  Johnny"  or  "Old  Two-Sticks" 
— which  made  Sir  Roderick  fume  and  scowl. 
Checked  there,  Pat  turned  him  into  Sir  Leo- 
line,  the  Baron  rich,  which  was  safe,  since  his 
father  knew  not  the  bard,  but  had  horrid 
implications  as  to  what  he  had  or  had  not  in 
his  company,  very  useful  against  Hector  on 
occasion.  Sir  Roderick  didn't  mind  what  was 
said  so  long  as  it  was  admitted  that  the  von 
Broderodes  were  not  German.  He  hated  the 
Germans  and  thought  that  they  intended  the 
destruction  of  our  realms,  though  not,  of 
course,  that  they  would  succeed.  To  him 
it  was  very  important  that  the  Baron  was 
Austrian — "Old  friends  of  ours,  the  Austrians 
— a  fine  people,  sir."  He  thought  to  call 
your  prospective  guest  Old  Two-Sticks  was 
offensive — "Damned  offensive,  sir,  if  you  ask 


78  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

me."  Here  he  would  square  his  fine  old 
shoulders,  and  light  a  fire  in  his  dark  blue 
eyes,  with  the  ridiculous  effect  that  he  looked 
younger  than  his  youngest  son.  But  you 
couldn't  stop  them.  The  Baroness,  also, 
was  "the  inexpressible  She"  or  "the  ship- 
launcher"  in  allusion  to  her  name.  I  remem- 
ber that  at  the  moment  of  her  coming  into 
the  hall  for  dinner,  the  first  night  of  the  visit, 
Patrick  whispered  to  me,  "Was  this  the 
face.  . .  ?"  and  added  afterwards  to  a  younger 
friend,  "By  Gad,  it  might  be."  He  was  much 
impressed,  as  they  all  were,  by  her  charm 
of  quiet.  All  this  speculative  pleasantry  was 
flying  about  ad  libitum,  before  they  came. 
Hector,  that  ostrich,  buried  his  head,  and 
gave  the  rest  of  himself  away.  He  used  to 
speak  of  Helena  with  elaborate  unconcern, 
as  if  he  hadn't  thought  of  her  much  up  to 
now.  "Good-looking?  Yes,  I  fancy  you 
would  call  her  good-looking — in  a  placid,  sort 
of  nun-like  way."  He  infuriated  Pierpoint 
by  that.  "Look  here,  Hector,"  that  flushed 
and  really  noble-looking  youth  cried  out  at 
him,  "are  you  going  to  sit  there  and  tell 
me  she's  demure?"  Hector  said  that  he 


INVERORAN  79 

was  going  to  sit  there  and  tell  him  nothing. 
Patrick  suggested  that  perhaps  she  was 
"arch."  Wynyard,  who  was  eating  muffins, 
said  that  we  should  try  the  Knockacarrig 
beat  to-morrow.  The  wind  was  right.  He 
couldn't  see  what  use  there  was  in  discussing 
the  appearance  of  a  woman  who  wasn't  there 
and  whom  nobody  but  Hector  had  seen. 
Patrick  jumped  up  to  confute  him.  If,  he 
said,  she  was  there,  you  naturally  couldn't 
discuss  her,  and  if  everybody  had  seen  her 
it  wouldn't  be  worth  while.  What  did  Wyn- 
yard say  to  that?  Wynyard  said  nothing 
to  it,  but  finished  the  muffins,  and  then  asked 
if  anybody  would  play  squash  with  him  before 
dinner.  That  was  how  they  went  on  all  the 
time,  sparring  and  wrangling.  But  they  were 
very  close-knit  for  all  that.  It  meant  nothing. 
If  you  touched  one  of  them  you  touched  the 
whole  pack,  and  Sir  Roderick  first  of  all. 
There  was  something  fine  about  that  old 
giant  when  he  was  in  a  rage.  You  forgot 
how  stupid  he  was. 

Hector  set  great  store  by  this  visit  of  his 
lady  and  her  grim  possessor.     He  made  me 


8o  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

his  confessor  shortly  after  I  came,  telling  me 
that  when  he  left  me  in  Milan  in  the  spring 
he  had  indeed  gone  home — but  by  way  of 
Venice  and  Vienna!  There  he  had  been  in 
her  company  for  two  clear  days.  She  had 
not  been  offended — far  from  it.  She  had  never 
been  kinder  to  him  than  she  had  then  proved 
herself.  Heavenly  creature!  he  said,  she  had 
seemed  to  know  that  he  would  come:  she 
had  seemed  touched  by  it.  That  a  woman 
should  be  grateful  to  you  for  what  is  the  act 
of  sheer  self-gratification!  Can  anything  be 
more  beautifully  condescending  than  that? 
It  is  innate  courtesy  of  the  most  exquisite 
refinement.  And  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky — • 
not  a  cloud!  She  gave  up  all  her  engage- 
ments on  his  account.  They  spent  their  days 
in  the  galleries — the  evenings  in  her  fine 
house.  There  were  people  there,  of  course — • 
a  soft-footed  priest  with  a  white  head,  he 
told  me,  a  Monsignore  who  seemed  to  be  a 
relative  of  hers;  a  Miss  Waggetts  who  was 
governess  to  Hermione;  a  mysterious  old 
black-browed  lady  with  a  name  like  Korsaczy, 
who  always  looked  as  if  a  thunder-storm  was 
going  on  in  the  top  of  her  head.  That  was 


INVERORAN  81 

because  she  blinked.  You  thought  of  light- 
ning. Helena  didn't  explain  any  of  these 
people  to  him,  nor  (he  supposed)  himself  to 
them.  She  had  a  way  of  murmuring  names 
in  the  air,  and  leaving  them  to  be  sorted  by 
their  owners.  He  laughed  the  laugh  of  a 
lover:  "I  adore  her  dependence  on  Provi- 
dence," he  said,  "but  she  is  undeniably  vague 
sometimes.  The  Korsaczy  didn't  catch  my 
name  at  all,  and  had  it  out  of  me  afterwards. 
She  didn't  like  it  when  she  had  it.  She  said 
it  sounded  like  a  curse.  Malison — do  you 
see?  Clever  of  her.  The  tu  quoque  was 
obvious,  but  I  let  it  go.  She  didn't  like  me, 
but  that  didn't  matter.... It  was  beautiful 
to  see  her — I  mean  Helena — with  Hermione. 
A  tall,  creamy-skinned,  grave  child  with  her 
mother's  deep  grey  eyes  and  cloudy  hair. 
Nothing  was  said  of  the  satyr — bah!  we 
won't  talk  of  him.  Hermione  used  to  lean 
against  her  mother's  knee  while  I  was  there 
talking;  and  every  now  and  then  they  used 
to  look  at  each  other  and  smile.  It  was  like 
the  sun  breaking  out;  one  used  to  wait  for 
it.  ...  The  second  of  my  days  she  touched 
me  to  the  point  of  tears.  It  was  after  luncheon. 

6 


82  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  was  following  them  out  of  the  room,  and 
in  the  corridor  Hermione  waited  for  me,  and 
held  out  her  hand.  We  went  on  handfasted. 
A  child's  confidence  is  worth  having.  That 
makes  a  man  think  himself  somebody."  I 
agreed  with  him. 

There  was  more  to  come.  I  knew  that  and 
waited  for  it.  Presently  he  said,  "  Her  patience 
is  exquisite.  It's  so  beautiful  that  sometimes 
I  think  what  she  goes  through  may  be  worth 
while — to  secure  it  to  her,  don't  you  see? 
You  know  how  I  look  upon  Beauty,  as  being 
so  much  the  assurance  of  a  virtue  that  it 
becomes  a  virtue  in  itself.  It  follows  that 
any  indignity  offered  to  Beauty — especially 
Spiritual  Beauty,  as  Helena's  is — is  a  thing 
unendurable;  it's  like  winking  at  obscenity; 
it's  like  allowing  immorality  in  your  own 
house.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  her  about  that 
— I  couldn't  say  much,  naturally — but  she 
knew  what  I  meant.  I  said  that  a  man  knows 
that  he's  a  good  poet,  or  linguist,  or  chemist, 
and  takes  his  stand  in  the  world  on  that 
ground.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  woman 
must  know  not  only  the  fact  of  her  beauty, 
but  also  the  rights  due  to  it.  Without  vanity 


INVERORAN  83 

she  seeks  to  enhance  it,  taking  thought  for 
her  clothes,  her  hair,  and  things  like  that. 
Is  she  not  entitled  to  say  to  the  world:  'This 
beauty  of  mine,  which  you  admit  by  your 
words,  you  shall  admit  also  by  your  acts? 
No  man  in  the  world  has  a  right  over  it 
but  by  free  grant  from  me/  I  didn't  put 
it  so  crudely  as  that  —  I  didn't  dot  the 
i's  or  cross  all  the  tjs — but  I  took  pains 
about  it. 

"She  was  very  gentle  with  me.  I  think 
that  she  was  moved.  She  said  that  I  had 
high  standards,  which  were  not  common. 
In  her  country,  she  said,  men  talked  like  that 
before  they  married,  but  that,  being  married, 
they  only  talked  so  to  other  men's  wives. 
I  told  her  that  England  stood  in  no  better 
case;  but  did  all  this  matter?  Could  brutish 
behaviour  alter  eternal  laws?  She  sighed 
as  she  said  that  custom  had  the  force  of  law. 
And  then,  as  if  to  end  the  discussion,  she 
bent  over  her  netting  and  said,  'You  mustn't 
be  unhappy.  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  I 
think  that  you  go  home  unhappy.  I  promise 
you  that  I  shall  remember  our  talks,  and  be 
the  more  contented  for  them.  I  haven't  many 


84  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

friends — but  I  count  upon  your  friendship. 
It  is  a  great  thing  for  me.' 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  dared  not  say  any  more. 
She  asked  me  not  to  write  to  her  often — not 
more  than  twice,  she  said.  It  was  understood 
that  they  were  to  come  here.  I  think  I 
wrote  three  times.  She  answered  one  letter 
of  mine — but  that's  all." 

"Do  you  think — ?"  I  began  to  ask  him 
a  question  which  I  might  have  had  some 
difficulty  in  completing.  But  he  answered 
it  as  it  was. 

"No,  I  don't.  I  don't  think  she  has  any 
love  of  that  kind  for  anybody.  I  think  she 
is  too  out  of  the  world  for  love,  as  the  world 
understands  it.  I  doubt  if  the  feelings  of 
ordinary  women  mean  anything  to  her.  But 
I  do  think  that  she  is  pleased  with  me.  She 
listens  to  me,  and  thinks  about  what  I  say. 
Yes,  I  do  think  so." 

"What  do  you  suppose  he  thinks  about  it, 
Hector?"  I  asked  him. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "and  don't  care, 
at  present.  He  may  be  troublesome  later  on." 

I  pressed  him.  "What  do  you  mean — 
later  on?" 


INVERORAN  85 

"I  mean,"  he  said,  "when  he  knows  what 
I  am  up  to — and  that  I  don't  mean  to  leave 
him  alone." 

I  deprecated.  "Really,  I  don't  know  how 
you  can  keep  his  company,"  I  said.  "Mind 
you,  he's  very  intelligent." 

"Oh,  damnably,"  said  Hector.  "But  so 
is  she." 

"Well,  my  dear  chap?' 

Hector  got  up  and  plunged  his  hands  into 
his  pockets.  "Well,  it's  got  to  this.  She 
is  used  to  him.  He's  horrible,  but  she's  used 
to  him  and  his  horrors.  And  now — well — 
now  she  has  begun  to  find  out  that  she  ought 
not  to  be." 

I  looked  at  him.  "You  mean  to  say  that 
you've  laid  a  drawn  sword ?" 

He  met  me.  "I  mean  to  say  that  I  have 
proved  to  her  own  conviction  that  she  is  a 
beautiful  woman,"  he  said — and  then,  "We 
must  go  and  dress." 

I  don't  seek  to  excuse  my  friend;  indeed, 
I  suppose  that  if  he  was  in  love  with  Helena 
von  Broderode  he  is  to  be  excused  for  his 
intromission  in  her  private  affairs.  It  didn't, 


86  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

at  the  time,  seem  to  me  to  amount  to  much. 
Not  to  more  than  this,  perhaps,  that  it 
amounted  to  just  as  much  or  just  as  little 
as  she  chose  to  make  it  stand  for.  And  after 
all  is  said  and  done,  hedges  only  exist  in  love 
to  be  broken  through.  The  state  of  his 
feelings  magnified  the  offences  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Baron — offences,  mind  you,  that  were 
mere  guess  work  on  Hector's  part;  they 
magnified  also  the  distress  of  the  Baroness — 
guess-work  again.  My  distinct  opinion  is  that 
the  Baroness  wasn't  particularly  uncomfort- 
able with  her  Baron's  attentions  until  she 
found  Hector  scandalized  about  it.  She  had 
been  married  twelve  years.  The  Baron's 
malady  didn't  attack  him  until  half  that 
time  had  expired.  I  doubt  her  extreme  sensi- 
bility. I  think  she  was  of  a  placid  nature, 
if  you  ask  me.  I  felt  very  strongly  at  the 
time  that  if  distress  existed  in  the  Baroness 
it  was  almost  entirely  because  Hector  had 
put  it  there.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  that 
was  wanton  of  him,  too  bad;  and  I  don't 
think  that  any  flummery  about  the  sovereign 
rights  of  Beauty  will  excuse  a  man  making 
a  beauty  uncomfortable.  I  beg  Hector's 


INVERORAN  87 

pardon.  Hector  was  a  poet,  it  may  be — for 
you  can  be  a  poet  without  making  any  poems. 
I  imagine  that  Beauty  was  to  him  a  very 
tangible  thing — a  kind  of  gloss  upon  things 
and  persons  (mostly  persons,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  and  mostly,  too,  female  persons)  which 
might  be,  in  his  eyes,  visibly  tarnished.  But 
the  plain  truth  is,  Hector's  idealism  of  beauty 
was  pure  sex — nothing  else  at  all.  If  it  had 
not  been  so,  there  was  his  brother  Pierpoint, 
for  example — the  most  beautiful  creature  in 
these  islands — a  miracle  of  grace  and  strength, 
the  perfection  of  line  and  colour,  and  rare 
blood  and  high  spirit:  a  creature  like  a  god. 
Yet  Hector  never  saw  beauty  like  a  gloss  upon 
him.  No,  no.  He  was  in  love  with  Helena — • 
as  well  he  might  be;  he  was  in  love  with  her 
after  his  own — as  I  think — rather  anaemic 
fashion.  He  perched  her  up  on  a  five-foot 
pedestal — so  that  her  head  was  at  least  ten 
feet  in  the  air.  And  then  he  called  out  to 
the  world  in  general,  "I  have  found  a  woman 
who  is  ten  feet  high.  She  must  be  an  immor- 
tal. Come,  we  will  turn  her  into  a  church. 
No  man  must  smoke  a  cigar,  or  spit,  or  scratch 
his  head,  or  go  to  sleep  near  her.  One  does 


88       ,  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

not  do  these  things  in  churches,  and  I  tell 
you  that  you  are  in  church  where  she  is." 
That's  how  sex  takes  you.  Sheer  sex:  nothing 
else  at  all. 

I  couldn't  say  this  to  him,  and  it  would 
have  been  little  use  if  I  had.  As  things  turned 
out,  I  am  glad  that  I  did  not,  for  the  very 
peculiar  twist  in  Hector's  nature  made  him 
fairly  comfortable  in  the  most  uncomfortable 
position — without  any  exception — in  which 
amorous  man  ever  found  himself.  But  one 
thing  at  a  time.  We  haven't  reached  that 
yet. 

In  days  to  come  I  remembered  that  talk 
with  Hector.  It  was  the  night  before  the 
von  Broderodes  were  due. 

And  I  remember  another  thing  not  at  the 
time  memorable.  I  remember  coming  out 
of  my  room  and  passing  Pierpoint's  on  my 
way  to  the  staircase.  Just  before  I  reached 
his  door  it  opened,  but  nobody  came  out. 
I  heard  his  voice  saying  with  emphasis,  "No, 
not  to-night.  It's  out  of  the  question.  You 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do."  Then  I  suppose 
my  steps  were  heard:  the  door  was  closed 
again,  and  held-to  until  I  had  turned  the 


INVERORAN  .      89 

corner  by  the  stair.  On  the  way  down-stairs 
Pierpoint,  coming  three  at  a  time,  bumped 
into  me  and  saved  himself  by  clinging  round 
my  neck.  "Frightfully  sorry,"  he  panted. 
"You  see,  I  thought  I  was  late.  And  you 
know  what  the  governor  is.  Balked  of  his 
prey!" 

"Come  on,"  I  said,  "we'll  brazen  it  out 
between  us.  I  heard  you  as  I  passed  your 
door.  You  were  rather  positive,  I  thought. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  looking  in." 

He  gave  me  a  sharp  look.  For  a  second  or 
two  it  was  intense.  Then  he  laughed.  "Quite 
as  well  you  didn't,  old  chap."  That  was 
what  he  said. 


VI 
THE  STATE  VISIT 

SIR  RODERICK  was  a  dear  old  man,  whose 
besetting  sin  was  vanity.  He  had  been  a 
splendid  specimen  of  mankind  in  his  day — 
and  he  still  was  the  perfection  of  hale,  frosty, 
alert  old  age — and  I  suspect  that  his  excessive 
partiality  for  Pierpoint  sprang  from  that.  He 
renewed  his  youth  in  that  hero;  he  saw  him- 
self in  his  acts,  and  all  the  admiration  which 
the  youth  won  for  himself — which  was  inor- 
dinate— he  applied  like  ointment  to  his  own 
old  person.  But  that  is  parenthesis.  One  of 
the  by-products  of  his  vanity  was  that  in 
order  to  magnify  himself  he  had  to  magnify 
everything  to  do  with  himself.  His  stags 
had  to  be  bigger  than  any  other  man's  stags; 
his  gillies  tougher  than  any  other  man's  gillies; 
his  housemaids  better  looking  than  any  other 
man's  housemaids.  One  of  them  certainly 
was,  by  the  way:  Ethel  Cook  was  her  name. 
She  was  supposed  to  be  the  best-looking 

housemaid  in  the  world.     I  remember  that 
90 


THE  STATE  VISIT  91 

he  was  bragging  about  the  maids  at  Inveroran 
one  day — how  good  they  were,  how  long 
they  stayed,  what  fine  girls  and  all  that.  It 
was  after  breakfast.  He  and  I  were  in  the 
hall.  "You  shall  see  for  yourself,"  he  said. 
He  rang  the  bell  and  told  the  man  to  fetch 
Ethel.  I  couldn't  tell  him — hadn't  the  heart — 
that  I  knew  all  about  her,  that  she  was  famous 
in  her  way.  He  must  have  known  that  I  had 
danced  with  her  at  the  servants'  ball  every 
year  since  she  had  been  there — but  nothing 
would  do.  Down  she  must  come.  By  and 
by,  sure  enough,  down  she  came.  Undoubt- 
edly she  was  magnificent — about  five  foot 
eight,  with  a  fine,  small  head  on  her  shoulders, 
and  a  grave,  self-possessed  pair  of  grey  eyes. 
He  gave  her  an  order  about  something  or 
other,  and  kept  her  for  a  while  talking.  She 
was  perfectly  respectful,  but  not  at  all  uneasy. 
Then  he  sent  her  off.  "That  young  woman 
has  been  here  for  seven  years,"  he  told  me. 
I  knew  she  had.  "She  came  at  sixteen." 
I  knew  that  too.  "She's  now  twenty-three. 
I  respect  her,  sir.  She's  made  herself  respected. 
And  look  at  her.  She's  one  of  the  family. 
She  declines  to  marry,  though  half  the  men 


92  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

in  the  place  would  go  through  the  fire  for 
her.  But  no!  And  she  comes  from  the 
South — a  Gloucestershire  girl.  Now,  they 
are  all  of  that  pattern.  Let  me  tell  you 
this  .  .  ."  and  then  the  dear  old  gas-bag 
puffed  out  his  chest,  and  stroked  his  beard, 
and  went  off  again. 

That  is  another  parenthesis,  which  I  must 
be  excused.  What  I  am  coming  to  is  that, 
owing  to  this  little  weakness  of  his — of  magni- 
fying himself  in  his  circumstance — there  was 
some  danger,  perfectly  visible  to  the  family, 
of  his  turning  the  von  Broderode  visit  into 
an  act  of  international  courtesy.  He  might 
very  easily  have  had  the  town  be-flagged. 
Triumphal  arches  were  talked  of,  and  the 
German  dictionary  got  out.  Patrick  staved 
that  off  by  insisting  on  Polish — for  the  Baron- 
ess. He  said  that  it  wasn't  like  his  father  to 
ignore  the  rights  of  a  crushed  and  beaten 
race.  "Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  she 
don't  get  enough  German  rubbed  into  her 
in  Galicia?  And  you  expect  her  to  come  here 
and  find  German  inscriptions?"  That  was 
the  way  to  get  at  him — to  be  as  literal  as 
himself.  Sir  Roderick  was  touched.  "You 


THE  STATE  VISIT  93 

are  right,  my  lad,"  he  said.  "It  would  be  a 
great  want  of  tact.  No,  no.  That  would  never 
do."  So  we  got  off  the  arches.  But  the  whole 
course  of  a  week  bristled  with  pitfalls.  Should 
there  be  an  address  at  the  station?  Should 
he  himself  be  on  the  platform?  A  red  baize, 
now?  The  pipes? 

One  thing  he  had  so  set  his  heart  on  that 
it  stabbed  us  to  ours  to  deny  it  him.  He 
saw  a  group  of  us  all  on  the  steps  to  await 
the  carriage — himself  in  the  midst  of  his  tall 
sons — guests  in  wicker  chairs — Lord  Mark  in 
his  yeomanry  uniform — then  men  holding 
dogs  in  leashes — the  servants  in  white  caps, 
or  with  livery  buttons  looking  like  pills  on 
the  photograph — !  It  was  to  be  like  the 
pictures  of  the  German  Emperor  at  a  wedding. 
Really,  he  was  so  unhappy  when  the  boys 
flatly  refused,  one  after  the  other,  that  I  was 
fool  enough  to  say  I'd  do  it,  and  Lady  Mark 
backed  me  up  and  went  so  far  as  to  say  she 
would  like  it.  But  the  boys  were  of  sterner 
stuff.  Patrick  said  he'd  do  it  on  one  con- 
dition, which  was  that  he  should  wear  his 
bathing  suit  and  carry  a  parasol.  Pierpoint 
and  Wynyard,  the  twins,  should  sit  at  each 


94  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

corner  in  huge  turn-down  collars — perhaps 
with  banjoes.  The  poor  old  dear  saw  that 
it  was  no  go,  and  gave  it  up.  "It  would  have 
been  a  graceful  act,  sir,"  he  said  to  me. 
"That  was  how  we  received  the  late  King — 
and  the  King  was  pleased.  He  as  good  as 
said  so.  But,  however — "  He  was  dread- 
fully hurt,  very  stately  and  remote  to  Pat, 
pressed  the  port  on  me — told  me  its  year 
and  all  that — offered  me  a  cigar!  In  fact,  he 
sulked  in  a  very  dignified  way  all  dinner-time. 

After  a  series  of  pounding  defeats  like  this 
we  became  magnanimous  and  let  him  win  a 
couple  of  outpost  skirmishes.  He  was  allowed 
the  great  carriage  instead  of  the  motor. 
Hector  went  down  in  it  to  please  him.  And 
the  Castle  pipers  were  at  the  station  with 
their  bags  of  tricks  under  their  arms.  We 
even  let  him  have  that.  Being  a  Southron 
myself,  like  Miss  Ethel  Cook,  I  saw  no  relig- 
ious significance  in  these  chaps,  and  got  all 
the  more  pleasure  out  of  them.  I  love  them 
above  all  on  these  sort  of  days  of  pomp. 
They  always  bring  me  tears.  I  can  see  them 
now  in  that  breezy,  dusty  station  yard,  stalk- 


THE  STATE  VISIT  95 

ing  up  and  down  like  high-stepping  cocks, 
or  standing  together,  discoursing  of  great 
affairs  with  each  other,  in  an  open-mouthed 
circle  of  bare-footed  boys.  And  when  the 
train  was  signalled,  the  toss  of  the  head  as 
each  met  the  other's  eye!  And  when  it  was 
in  sight,  the  long  wheeze  of  preparation !  And 
then  the  outburst — the  crash,  the  triumphant 
scream — and  the  march  away  up  the  street! 
I  love  it,  I  tell  you — and  it  nearly  always 
makes  me  cry.  I  think  that  fair  Helena  was 
moved  too.  As  for  the  Baron,  I'll  swear  that 
he  didn't  miss  anything.  He  never  did. 

Our  part  up  at  the  house — since  the  whole 
thing  had  got  on  our  nerves — was  to  be  as 
unconcerned  as  possible.  We  would  not  be 
on  the  steps.  Sir  Roderick  should  have  them 
to  himself.  Those  of  us  who  were  at  home — 
all  the  men  except  myself  and  Hector  were 
on  the  moors,  and  a  good  many  of  the  women 
obstinately  sat  in  the  hall  with  the  tea- 
things.  Lady  Mark — as  bad  as  any  of  us  by 
now — insisted  on  my  playing  draughts  with 
her.  She  said  it  would  look  "informal";  she 
thought  it  would  "put  them  at  their  ease." 


96  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Amusing  way  of  putting  the  cool  cucumber 
at  his  ease!  He  might  be  trusted  to  do  that 
for  himself. 

When  Sir  Roderick  brought  her  in,  Lady 
Mark's  informality  ceased.  She  was  much 
too  interested  in  Hector's  "passion,"  as  she 
called  Helena.  She  saw  instantly  that  she 
was  all  right — and  she  certainly  was.  I'm  no 
good  at  lady's  dresses — broad  effects  for  me. 
I  content  myself  by  recording  that  it  was 
black  and  white,  that  it  seemed  to  drape  her 
and  be  unwilling  to  leave  her,  if  you  under- 
stand me.  It  looked  to  me  very  expensive. 
Then  she  had  an  early  Victorian  hat,  a  long, 
drooping,  flagged  affair,  with  a  black  feather. 
It  was  very  big  and  very  black.  It  set  her 
pale  face  off — it  made  that  look  like  a  moon 
steering  through  a  dark  rain-cloud.  And  there 
was  Hector,  adoring  her  from  a  respectful 
distance  in  the  background!  She  knew  it: 
and  how  immensely  touched  and  gratified  she 
was  with  it  all!  So  much  for  that.  She 
smiled  a  very  friendly  greeting  to  me  and 
allowed  me  to  kiss  her  hand — anyhow,  that 
is  what  I  took  upon  me  to  do.  She  was  quite 
self-possessed  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  ready  for 


THE  STATE  VISIT  97 

anything.  She  felt  herself,  very  pardonably, 
to  be  making  an  effective  entrance.  Every 
woman  knows  that  kind  of  thing. 

Hector  waited  upon  the  Baron,  as  I  sup- 
posed; and  pretty  soon  I  heard  the  two  sticks 
and  guessed  at  the  dragging  glide.  At  the 
open  door  he  stood  to  rest,  propped  upon 
them,  confronting  the  citadel,  as  it  were, 
with  the  gallant  and  weathered  eye  of  an 
old  campaigner.  Here  he  was  then — up 
against  it.  He  must  have  known  it.  He 
took  us  all  in  at  a  glance;  he  sized  the  whole 
thing  up.  He  was  hard  put  to  it  for  his 
breath,  I  guess;  but  he  masked  his  fatigue 
with  that  dauntless  smile  of  his  which  always 
endeared  him  to  me,  ghoul  or  no  ghoul.  A  cool 
cucumber  indeed  was  the  Baron  von  Broderode. 

And  how  he  played  up  at  the  tea-table! 
How  he  massed  his  forces  for  the  attack  on 
his  traitor  tell-tale  hands,  how  he  was  beaten, 
how  he  returned  to  the  assault  again  and 
again!  How  he  talked,  joked,  relished  every- 
thing through  what  must  have  been  devast- 
ating efforts!  After  all,  a  man  with  a  zest 
like  that  was  a  man.  Lady  Mark  told  me 
afterwards  that  she  thought  him  a  dangerous 


98  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

man,  because,  forsooth,  "he  took  so  much 
for  granted."  I  discovered  after  a  bit  what 
she  meant.  He  had  taken  her  nationality 
for  granted.  He  told  her  in  a  few  minutes 
that  he  knew  America,  and  even  surmised 
that  she  came  from  New  England — which,  in 
fact,  she  did.  I  suppose  it  was  a  shot;  but 
it  was  just  like  him  (a)  to  have  made  it,  (b) 
to  have  been  right.  Mrs.  Vane,  too,  who  was 
the  wife  of  the  money-hunting  Colonel — he 
was  ready  for  her.  He  told  her  he  had  met  a 
Captain  Vane  in  India — and  gave  the  year. 
It  was  the  Colonel!  You  couldn't  get  away 
from  the  Baron  anywhere,  even  on  the  wings 
of  the  morning. 

After  tea,  although  it  was  getting  dusk, 
Sir  Roderick  had  them  out  into  the  gardens. 
The  Baron  excused  himself  and  retired  to  his 
rooms,  where  I  suppose  his  man  and  his  Teresa 
had  got  things  snug  for  him.  He  had  brought 
his  Teresa.  Helena  went  off  between  father 
and  son;  and  in  due  course  we  all  took  our 
ways.  The  shooters  came  in  late,  and  her 
first  public  appearance  was  before  dinner. 

They  were  all  assembled  when  she  came 
down-stairs.  Even  the  Baron  had  got  himself 


THE  STATE  VISIT  99 

down  before  her.  She  not  only  looked  very 
beautiful,  but  extremely  young  for  her  thirty. 
It  was  then  that  Patrick  said  that  hers  might 
be  the  face  that  had  the  ships 

Crowded  in  Aulis  like  white  birds. 

She  was  in  black — with  the  family  diamonds, 
or  some  of  them,  in  her  hair. 

Sir  Roderick,  with  his  infallible  eye  for 
stage-sentiment,  had  his  young  men  about 
him,  and  presented  them  formally.  Bearded, 
red  Wynyard — "our  mighty  hunter,  Baron- 
ess," then  Pierpoint,  "like  some  hot  amorist" 
— "and  this  is  my  scapegrace,  Pierpoint," 
who  said,  "You  do  me  honour,  sir,"  and 
stooped  burning  bright  over  her.  I  saw  her 
look  up  with  her  friendly  smile — and  then  I 
saw  her  eyes  flicker  and  fall.  Then  came 
Patrick,  who  introduced  himself  — "  I'm 
Patrick — how  do  you  do?"  He  spared  the 
rest  of  them.  Lady  Mark  presented  her  lord, 
who  bowed,  and  received  a  bow.  Then  the 
pipes  burst  out — the  Baron  said  "Ha!"  very 
loud,  and  we  proceeded  to  dinner. 

Dinner  was  rather  heavy,  I  thought.  There 
was  too  much  of  the  banquet  about  it.  Sir 


ioo  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Roderick  might  have  been  the  Lord  Mayor 
entertaining  royalty.  There  was  nothing  of 
the  modern  light  hand  about  the  old  chief. 
On  her  other  side  there  was  Lord  Mark,  who 
did  his  best.  You  could  describe  Lord  Mark 
best  in  wine-merchant  language,  as  a  perfect 
table  wine,  "very  light  and  dry."  Hector 
was  solemn,  rather  like  a  sweet  port;  Wynyard 
ate  his  food,  and  Pierpoint  was  bored.  I  had 
a  girl  to  look  after  who  had  hitherto  been  at 
one  of  the  round  tables  where  the  young 
things  kept  up  their  brisk  cannonades  of  small 
jokes  and  bread  pills.  I  too  did  my  best;  but 
she  looked  over  her  shoulder  more  than  once, 
and  more  than  once  wondered  "what  they 
were  doing."  I  advised  her  finally  to  go 
there  on  all-fours  and  find  out.  She  liked  the 
idea,  but  funked  it. 

By  far  the  best  company  was  the  Baron. 
He  never  gave  in;  he  ate  of  everything; 
drank  champagne;  made  jokes  and  laughed 
at  them;  told  anecdotes  across  the  table; 
you  never  saw  a  man  so  much  at  ease  in  the 
midst  of  struggles  which  would  have  worn 
down  Antaeus.  I  didn't  know  whether  to 
envy  the  more  his  spirit  or  his  zest.  Pierpoint 


THE  STATE  VISIT  101 

interested  him  because  of  his  perfections — 
I  could  see  that.  He  talked  across  Lady 
Mark,  and  when  the  young  man's  attention 
wandered,  he  brought  it  back  again  by  talking 
at  him.  He  was  evidently  studying  Pierpoint, 
and  I  wondered  if  he  had  seen  that  conquering 
glance  before  which  his  fair  wife  had  abased 
her  eyes.  Was  it  possible  that  the  Baron  was 
a  jealous  husband?  I  certainly  had  reason 
to  ask  as  time  went  on,  because  it  became 
evident  to  everybody,  almost  from  the  start, 
that  Pierpoint  was  out  for  scalps. 

When  we  joined  the  ladies,  things  went 
much  better.  The  bridge  players  roped  in 
the  Baron,  as  I  knew  they  would.  The  heroic 
man  assented,  and  I  fancy  that  Colonel  Vane 
dropped  money.  He  had  told  me  before 
dinner  that  he  had  won  ten  shillings  off 
Patrick,  on  the  moors,  for  two  right-and-lefts 
running.  "And,  by  Gad,  I  wanted  it!" —  he 
had  not  failed  to  add.  But  I  believe  that  he 
met  his  match  in  the  Baron. 

As  for  the  others,  there  was  to  be  a  rag, 
Patrick  said — and  there  was  a  rag.  We  played 
all  sorts  of  foolish  games.  I  only  remember 


102  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

forfeits  because  I  have  a  vision  of  Pierpoint 
kneeling  on  one  knee  before  Helena  and  telling 
her  that  she  must  "do  something"  to  him. 

She  looked  adorable — confused  and  happy 
at  once.  Her  eyes  very  bright  and  kind. 
"What  must  I  do  to  you?"  she  asked  him. 

He  didn't  shirk  it.  "You  may  do  any 
mortal  thing  you  like  to  me,"  he  said. 

She  hesitated,  seemed  to  hover  over  him, 
then  put  her  hand  lightly  on  his  shoulder  for  a 
minute  and  let  it  stay  there. 

"The  accolade,"  she  told  him. 

"I  am  your  knight,  then,"  he  said,  "Knight 
of  St.  Helena."  Then  he  got  up.  It  was 
really  very  pretty. 


VII 
SETTLING  IN 

I  HAD  work  to  do  which  kept  me  at  the  desk 
all  my  mornings,  so  I  am  not  clear  as  to  the 
immediate  course  of  events.  There  was  great 
play,  from  the  very  beginning,  but  I  can't 
be  sure  how  it  went.  So  far  as  I  could  judge 
from  a  few  casual  glimpses,  or  a  gibe  or  two 
let  fly  by  the  youths,  Pierpoint  made  the 
running.  He  was,  of  course,  the  beauty,  and 
he  founded  himself  upon  that.  Even  Pat 
acknowledged  a  kind  of  droit  de  seigneur  in 
his  glowing  brother.  But  the  fact  is  that 
they  took  her  to  the  family  heart  from  the 
beginning,  and  to  find  out  why  they  did 
would  be  a  curious  inquiry.  My  own  belief 
is  that  it  was  because  she  was  so  evidently 
pleased  to  be  there.  Nothing  pleases  people 
so  much  as  to  discover  that  they  are  pleasing. 
That  makes  you  enthusiastic.  You  say,  What 
a  delightful  girl!  She  likes  me!  Every  Mal- 
leson  of  them,  I  think,  felt  like  that  about 

Helena — from  the  chief,  who  adored  women, 

103 


io4  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

especially  young  ones,  and  would  have  given 
up  his  kingdom  for  a  daughter,  down  to 
Patrick  the  insipient,  who,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  liked  everybody.  I  used  to  see  her 
dance  away  in  the  mornings  with  a  whole 
bevy  of  them  about  her,  to  see  dogs,  or  to 
bathe,  or  sail,  as  the  case  might  be;  and  it 
was  delightful  to  note  her  intense  appreciation 
of  the  flickering,  random,  high-spirited  pack. 
If  the  chief  went  with  them  she  used  to  effect 
sedateness  and  stay  behind  to  talk,  or  rather 
to  hear  him  talk.  He  showed  her  views,  trees 
planted  by  crowned  heads,  funeral  mounds 
of  old  horses,  dogs'  tombstones,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it.  She  bent  him  filial  attention — 
and  he  revelled  in  it.  Once  she  went  off  for 
a  walk  with  Hector;  but  only  once,  so  far 
as  I  know.  I  used  to  imagine  that  she  and 
Hector  had  an  understanding  by  which  they 
could  take  each  other's  feelings  for  granted 
— but  I'm  not  so  sure  about  it  now.  Wynyard 
was  the  dark  horse  of  the  lot.  He  took  her 
very  bluntly  after  his  manner.  The  more 
he  had  liked  her  the  less  he  would  have  shown 
it.  I  knew  that  and  used  to  watch  for  it. 
I  noticed  a  curt  address  of  her  once  or  twice. 


SETTLING  IN  105 

She  was  considering  whether  she  should  go 
out  with  the  shooters.  He  said  he  didn't 
think  it  was  the  place  for  women.  I  saw  her 
bite  her  lip. 

As  for  the  Baron,  they  fitted  him  up  with 
a  pony  and  took  him  out  every  day.  I  under- 
stood from  Wynyard,  who  was  an  expert, 
that  he  did  very  well.  "Gets  his  gun  up  like 
lightning  and  fires  at  the  instant.  He's  a 
sportsman."  This  was  high  praise  from  Wyn- 
yard, and  a  long  speech  from  the  silent  man 
of  the  house.  But  the  Baron  was  a  great 
success,  and  I  gathered  from  his  expansion 
at  dinner  that  he  knew  it,  and  that  all  went 
well  with  him.  He,  too,  pleased,  and  was 
pleased. 

She,  oddly  enough,  did  not  do  so  well  with 
the  women.  They  were  a  little  bit  cool  to 
her,  it  seemed.  Lady  Mark  said  that  she 
was  secretive.  I  don't  quite  know  what  she 
meant,  unless  it  was  that  Helena  didn't 
choose  to  talk  about  her  admirers  as  if  they 
were  pet  dogs.  The  girls,  too,  were  a  little 
bit  jealous:  perhaps  they  thought  her  too 
young  for  her  age — and  perhaps,  poor  dear, 
she  was.  She  had  every  excuse  if,  as  I  expect, 


io6  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

she  had  never  been  young  before.  Hector 
took  her  out  riding  one  or  two  days,  but  not 
alone;  one  day  she  was  on  the  moors — at 
Wynyard's  invitation.  She  marched  about 
with  guns,  lunched  at  a  sheeling,  and  was 
rather  bored.  That  may  have  been  because 
shooting  under  Wynyard's  marshalling  was 
apt  to  be  so  mighty  serious.  She  confessed 
to  Hector  afterwards  that  she  didn't  like  to 
see  things  killed,  although  she  thought  we 
did  it  as  kindly  as  it  could  be  done.  She  was 
greatly  struck  by  British  kindness,  and  dis- 
posed to  trust  it  a  very  long  way.  She  told 
me  that  in  a  half-hour  of  expansion.  "I 
have  never  been  in  England  before — "  she 
began,  and  I  thought  I  had  better  tell  her 
that  she  wasn't  in  England  now.  "No,  no," 
she  said,  "  I  know — I  have  made  that  blunder 
already.  Patrick  stopped  me.  I  hope  Sir 
Roderick  didn't  hear  me.  But  at  home  we 
have  the  habit  of  talking  of  you  all  as  the 
English." 

"We'll  let  it  pass  this  time,"  I  said,  and 
then  invited  her  to  proceed. 

She  said,  "I  am  lost  in  admiration  at  two 
things.  First,  that  you  are  so  good-looking, 


SETTLING  IN  107 

and  next  that  you  are  so  gentle.  I  think  it 
is  because  you  are  proud.  It  seems  beneath 
your  dignity  to  be  savage,  or  to  speak  disdain- 
fully to  servants." 

I  said  that  I  thought  we  were  rather  slack 
than  proud.  "It's  not  worth  while  being 
angry  with  a  servant.  The  great  thing  is  to 
let  them  alone.  If  that  don't  answer,  they 
must  go.  That's  how  we  look  at  it,  I  think." 

She  wasn't  listening,  but  seemed  lost  in 
reverie.  Then  she  said,  "They  are  awfully 
kind  to  me — and  all  for  nothing,  but  gentle- 
ness!" 

I  said,  "It  would  be  very  hard  to  be  any- 
thing but  gentle  in  your  case." 

She  was  pleased.  "Ah,"  she  said,  "you 
have  no  idea  how  grateful  I  am  for  kindness. 
It  touches  me  deeply — always." 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "you  must  be  prepared 
for  that." 

She  misunderstood  me.  "You  mean — by 
Mr.  Malleson — Mr.  Hector?  Yes,  indeed.  I 
think  he  has  very  noble  ideals.  He  seems  to 
me  a  beautiful  nature — but " 

I  waited. 

"But — "  she  didn't  know  how  to  put  it — 


io8  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

then  gave  it  up.  "Tell  me  about  the  others. 
What  do  they  do?  Do  they  always  lead  this 
happy  life?  Have  they  no  professions?  One 
is  in  the  marine,  I  think?  That  is  Mr.  Nigel, 
who  is  not  here?"  I  nodded.  "Then  one 
is  in  Orders — in  our  Church?" 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "Spenser  Malleson's  a 
priest.  And  a  missionary  at  that.  He's  out 
in  China,  waiting  for  the  toasting-fork." 

"And  Mr.  Wynyard — what  does  Mr.  Wyn- 
yard  do  when  he  is  not  killing?" 

I  laughed.  "He  prepares  to  kill.  He  does 
nothing  else.  But  he's  a  great  naturalist. 
He  kills  in  kindness.  He's  awfully  fond  of 
birds,  really.  You  may  not  agree,  but  that's 
why  he's  such  a  good  shot." 

She  said,  "I  would  agree  if  I  understood." 
After  a  bit  she  said,  with  a  quite  perceptible 
taking  of  breath,  "And  Pierpoint — Mr.  Pier- 
point?" 

"Pierpoint,"  I  told  her,  "is  a  soldier.  He's 
cavalry — a  Lancer.  But  he's  on  leave  now. 
He's  a  fine-looking  boy,  don't  you  think?" 

She  looked  down.  "He  is  very  handsome. 
I  don't  think  I  have  ever  seen  a  man  so  hand- 
some. But  you  call  him  a  boy?" 


SETTLING  IN  109 

"I  call  him  a  boy,"  I  said,  "because  I  am 
forty-two." 

She  looked  up.    "And  he  is—?" 

"I  don't  know  to  a  year  how  old  Pierpoint 
is,"  I  said,  though  it  wasn't  true.  "But  he 
is  not  forty-two,  I  assure  you.' 

She  laughed.  "No,  indeed.  But  one  sees 
he  is  not  a  boy." 

"No,  no,"  I  said.  "It  was  only  a  figure 
of  speech.  He  is  full-grown." 

There  we  came  to  a  stop  about  Pierpoint — 
or  it  seemed  so.  She  made  a  wide  cast,  and 
began  again  on  Hector. 

"Mr.  Hector,"  she  said,  "is  very  unlike 
his  brothers." 

"Yes,"  I  admitted.  "He  is  unlike  all  that 
you  see  here.  Physically,  he's  like  Patrick. 
Don't  you  see  it?  They  favor  their  mother's 
family.  She  was  Lord  Mark's  sister.  Morally, 
he's  like  Spenser,  the  priest.  An  enthusiast, 
an  idealist  of  a  rather  pronounced  type. 
Everything  is  either  coal-black  or  snow-white 
to  Hector.  He  don't  know  the  word  com- 
promise. But  he's  very  pussy  about  it.  He 
keeps  quiet  till  he's  wanted — or  thinks  that 
he's  wanted." 


no  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Her  eyes  shone.  "Yes,  that  is  so  true.  I 
wished  to  ask  you  about  that.  As  you  say, 
he  is  very  quiet,  very  gentle.  But  these 
others — they  are  strong,  they  are  swift  and 
proud.  They  are  like  their  father — what  a 
fine  man  he  is!  He  knows  that  he  is  a  king. 
He  walks  the  world  as  if  it  was  his.  But 
when  Hector  is  head  of  the  house — or  as  he 
is  now,  the  heir  of  it — how  does  he  exert 
authority?  Or  has  he  no  authority  over 
them?  Do  they  listen  to  his  advice?  Do 
they  obey  him?  He  is  so  quiet!" 

I  laughed — not  derisively  at  all — apprecia- 
tively rather.  "Yes,  he  is  quiet,"  I  said. 
"You  might  call  him  mild.  But  they  know 
better.  I  feel  sure — I  know — that  when  he 
takes  Sir  Roderick's  place  he  will  have  the 
power  which  Sir  Roderick  has.  If  he  were 
to  say  to  Wynyard,  'Look  here,  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  my  health  that  you  should 
drown  yourself  to-morrow  morning  in  the  bay,' 
Wynyard  would  do  it." 

She  said,"  You  are  laughing  at  me." 

I  assured  her  that  I  was  not.  "It's  an 
extreme  case,  of  course,  but  the  principle  is 
sound.  Convince  one  of  these  fellows  that 


SETTLING  IN  in 

it  is  up  to  him  to  do  something  for  Hector's 
sake — he'll  do  it.  He  must." 

She  took  that  very  seriously.  She  liked 
it. 

I  went  on.  "Mind  you,  there's  the  other 
side  of  the  proposition,  which  is  equally  bind- 
ing. I  know  that  Hector  would  go  the  same 
lengths  for  one  of  them.  He  would  stick  at 
nothing.  He  would  see  it  as  his  duty.  He 
would  stick  at  nothing  on  earth.  And,  of 
course,  they  know  that.  Both  terms  of  the 
proposition  are  in  the  blood.  They've  been 
bred  to  it." 

She  had  me  then.  "Do  you  think  that  the 
priest  would  be  like  that — like  the  others?" 
That  was  clever  of  her. 

I  said,  "Spenser  is  a  priest.  He's  not  a 
Jesuit,  but  they  reared  him.  That's  an  iron 
system.  I  won't  answer  for  Spenser.  But 
I'll  tell  you  this:  Hector  might  think  it  his 
duty  to  be  burned  at  the  stake  for  Spenser — 
and  burned  he  would  be." 

She  thanked  me  for  talking  to  her,  which 
I  assured  her  she  needn't  have  done.  It  was 
exciting  to  watch  her  as  she  listened  and 
thrilled.  She  was  like  some  beautiful  insect 


ii2  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

— with  new  wings  quivering  in  the  light.  I 
wondered  what  would  happen  to  her  with 
Hector  on  one  side  of  her,  Pierpoint  on  the 
other — and  the  grim  old  Baron  drinking  cigar- 
smoke  against  the  wall. 

After  a  bit  the  positions  began  to  shift 
and  develop  themselves.*  Pierpoint  openly 
paid  court  to  her,  and  Hector  wasn't  happy. 
That  was  clear  enough  to  anybody.  Old 
Miss  Bacchus,  who  came  up  a  day  or  two 
after  the  von  Broderodes,  took  it  all  in  the 
first  night  she  was  there.  She  went  every- 
where, as  they  say,  and  knew  everybody. 
She  was  a  hideous  lady,  with  a  red  front  of 
somebody  else's  hair — "another  man's  hair," 
as  Patrick  put  it — but  there  was  no  nonsense 
about  her.  When  we  went  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Pierpoint,  as  his  custom  now  was, 
went  straight  to  Helena  and  sat  by  her,  as 
if  she  belonged  to  him,  Hector  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  fire  and  looked  unutterable  things. 
Miss  Bacchus  came  and  plumped  down  by 
me. 

"I  say,"  she  began,  "I  don't  know  what 
all  this  is  about — do  you  ? " 

I  said,  "All  what?"    But  it  wouldn't  do. 


SETTLING  IN  113 

"My  dear  man,"  she  said,  "why  put  it 
off?  I'm  like  the  dentist.  You'll  feel  better 
afterwards." 

I  said,  "I've  a  horror  of  your  gouges.  You 
call  it  moral  pressure,  I  know.  You  should 
let  a  poor  beggar  alone.  I  never  did  you  any 
harm." 

"Look  at  her,"  said  Miss  Bacchus,  and  I 
did.  "You  know,"  she  went  on,  "that 
woman  has  never  been  made  a  fuss  about 
before;  and  she  likes  it — she  likes  it  awfully. 
She'll  lose  her  head — that's  what  she'll  do. 
And  Pierpoint's  no  good,  you  know.  He's  a 
rogue." 

"Not  a  roguey-poguey,  I  trust,"  I  said. 

"No,"  she  said,  "that's  the  female  of  rogue. 
Now  Hector  wouldn't  do  her  any  harm." 

"Wouldn't  he?"  I  didn't  want  to  dis- 
cuss my  friend's  affairs  with  this  too  candid 
dame. 

At  this  moment,  without  any  warning, 
she  fetched  me  a  crack  on  the  knee  with  her 
fan.  "You  talk  to  Hector,"  she  said.  "He's 
your  friend.  You  ought  to." 

"I'll  tell  him  what  you  say,"  I  told  her. 
She  snorted. 

8 


114  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 


" 


For  twopence  I'd  talk  to  him  myself. 
But  he  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  He'd  say  it 
wasn't  honourable." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "there's  something  in  that, 
you  know." 

Miss  Bacchus  scorned  me.  "You  talk  like 
Mr.  Brooke.  Honour  be  blowed.  Look  at 
Pierpoint.  What  does  he  think  about?  He's 
like  a  little  dog  or  a  little  boy  —  he  thinks  of 
what  he  wants,  and  nothing  else." 

"That  sort  get  on,"  I  said. 

"That  sort  get  run  over  at  a  crossing  pretty 
often,"  said  Miss  Bacchus. 

"Baron  von  Broderode  likes  both  of  them," 
I  told  her.  "But  he  likes  Pierpoint  best." 

Miss  Bacchus  gave  me  a  cool  stare.  "Is 
that  your  little  idea?"  she  said.  "Well,  let 
me  tell  you  that  you  are  dead  wrong.  The 
Baron  dislikes  Pierpoint  extremely." 

"My  dear  friend,  how  do  you  know  that?" 
I  asked  her. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "he  is  so  friendly 
with  him.  Don't  you  see  that  the  Baron 
never  shirks  a  thing?  Don't  you  see  that 
he  comes  to  terms  with  it  —  whether  it's  a 
man  after  his  wife,  or  a  locomotor  ataxy  after 


SETTLING  IN  115 

him — he'll  never  compromise.  Come  on,  he 
says,  let's  have  a  look  at  you.  God  bless 
me,  where  are  your  eyes?" 

"They  are  upon  you,"  I  said,  "with  admira- 
tion and  envy.  You  have  been  in  his  com- 
pany about  two  hours  and  a  half.  You  have 
never  exchanged  a  word  with  him.  But  you 
have  got  him  in  spirits." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  she  said  with  head- 
shaking;  "no,  my  dear  man,  I  haven't. 
He's  got  himself  in  'em.  Nobody  in  this 
house  is  going  to  get  the  Baron.  Don't  you 
make  any  mistake.  Now,  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing. He's  in  the  next  room  playing  bridge, 
isn't  he?  Very  well.  Now  I'll  undertake 
to  say  that  he  could  give  you  a  chart  showing 
where  she  is,  where  Pierpoint  is,  and  where 
Hector  is.  Although  he's  seen  nothing  of 
'em!  ....  And  another  thing.  I'll  bet  you 
half-a-crown  that  before  the  Broderodes  go 
the  Baron  will  ask  Pierpoint  to  come  and 
shoot  with  him  in  Galicia.  Do  you  take 
that?" 

I  said  that  I  would  rather  not.  The  odd 
part  of  the  tale  is  that  the  Baron  did  ask 
him. 


ii6  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

She  was  a  good  old  soul,  though.  I  watched 
her  with  amazement  go  directly  from  me  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room  and  plump  herself 
down  beside  Helena.  I  thought  that  the 
beauty  was  annoyed — and  she  might  very 
well  have  been  so;  but  she  had  very  pretty 
manners.  Miss  Bacchus  "butted  in,"  as  Lady 
Mark  would  say,  with  the  utmost  gallantry, 
and  (as  I  could  see)  brought  Pierpoint  smartly 
to  heel  in  a  few  rounds.  After  a  little  more 
she  beckoned  Hector  over  with  a  toss  of  her 
head,  and  I  saw  the  poor  chap  swallow  his 
mortification  and  be  all  the  better  for  it. 
Pierpoint  got  sick  of  it  and  took  himself  off. 
We  saw  no  more  of  him.  And  then  Miss 
Bacchus,  her  fairy  godmothership  accom- 
plished, limped  away  on  her  own  account. 
I  was  delighted  to  receive  a  friendly  wink 
as  she  passed  me.  "Cooked  his  goose  for 
him,"  she  said — in  what  she  thought,  no 
doubt,  was  a  whisper. 

Helena  was  being  quite  kind  to  Hector. 
Evidently  she  thought  that  she  had  mis- 
behaved. 

Now  I  come  to  the  ball — but  must  have 
a  new  chapter  for  it. 


VIII 

EUPHEMIA 

IT  was  a  yearly  business,  the  Inveroran  Ball. 
It  always  followed  the  Highland  Gathering; 
and  after  it  there  was  a  servants'  ball.  All 
these  were  great  spectacles  for  the  Baron, 
who  prepared  himself  for  them  with  German 
thoroughness,  but  also  with  a  southern  bright- 
ness which  belongs  only  to  his  branch  of  the 
Teuton  family.  He  read  a  book  upon  the 
clans,  and  got  to  know  the  tartans.  He  said 
to  me,  "They  are  like  the  Greeks,  these  Gaels 
— like  Greeks  in  the  rain.  You  have  the  clan 
Nestor,  the  clan  Tydeus,  the  clan  Peleus,  the 
clan  Atreus.  But  you  have  no  Homer  to  sing 
of  them.  You  have  Ossian — who  weeps  and 
has  a  hump."  He  never  got  the  argot  quite 
right.  "Yes,  that  is  right,"  he  chuckled. 
"Ossian  has  a  hump,  and  the  reader  wants  an 
umbrella. "  He  was  very  pleased  with  that, 
but  I  told  him  that  the  Highland  Gathering 
would  produce  no  umbrellas.  He  wanted  to 
know  about  the  Gathering.  I  said  that  it  was 

117 


ii8  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

very  like  the  games  in  Scheria  when  Odysseus 
scored  off  the  Phseacians.  "So!"  said  the 
Baron.  "But  Odysseus,  where  is  he?"  We 
exchanged  looks,  and  he  shrugged  his  great 
shoulders.  "Once,"  he  said,  "I  could  have 
been  he.  Now  I  am  what  you  see."  It  was 
the  only  time,  during  my  acquaintance  with 
him,  that  he  ever  admitted  incapacity.  He 
did  it  without  any  trace  of  bitterness :  I  don't 
think  he  felt  any  grudge  against  Providence. 
He  would  have  been  the  first  to  admit  that  he 
had  had  his  whack. 

He  was  always  very  friendly  with  me,  and 
seemed  to  find  me  provocative  of  jocularity; 
I  don't  know  why,  unless  it  was  a  reminiscence 
of  Chevenix,  who  had  been  in  my  company 
when  we  first  met.  Chevenix  had  a  way  of 
impressing  himself  on  the  tourist.  He  had  a 
very  pronounced  voice  and  his  anecdotes 
were  often  intimate.  "As  your  gold-tipt 
friend  would  say,"  was  the  Baron's  signal  for 
a  laborious  pleasantry.  So  it  was  that  when 
it  was  arranged  he  should  ride  his  pony  down 
to  the  meeting,  he  asked  me  to  ride  with  him. 

We  went  down  therefore  together.  They 
held  the  sports  in  a  great  field  between  Oran- 


EUPHEMIA  119 

mouth  and  the  town.  It  was  called  the  Port 
Field  and  ran  up  to  the  edge  of  the  moors 
in  a  fine  amphitheatre  of  foothills.  Ben  Mor, 
the  great  mountain  of  these  parts,  filled  the 
distance  with  rock  and  cloud. 

"You  English," said  he,"are  a  strange  race.  I 
suppose  you  have  not  possessed  the  Highlands 
for  more  than  two  hundred,  two  hundred- 
fifty  years,  but  already  you  have  taught 
the  Highlander  to  play  at  life.  What  is  Sir 
Roderick  but  a  white-bearded  schoolboy? 
Is  it  not  so?" 

I  said  that  Sir  Roderick  had  been  educated 
in  England,  but  at  bottom  was  quite  un- 
English. 

"And  his  sons — !"  The  Baron  threw  up 
his  whip  hand.  "These  fine  young  men — do 
they  not  play?" 

I  admitted  that  they  did;  but  I  added  that 
they  worked  at  it. 

"Yes,  that  is  true.  As  your  friend  would 
say,  they  work  at  their  play,  and  they  play  at 
their  work.  You  can't  tell  one  from  the 
other." 

"No,"  I  agreed,  "you  can't.  And  that's 
why  they  work  so  well.  There's  gusto  there." 


120  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

That  set  him  nodding  his  head  and  frowning. 
He  knew  all  about  gusto. 

When  we  were  pacing  down  the  main  street 
his  eyes  were  all  about.  He  noticed  the  little 
poky  shops;  he  was  tickled  by  the  holystone 
patterns  on  the  thresholds.  He  was  pleased 
with  the  way  private  houses  were  interspersed 
with  places  of  business.  "There,"  he  said,  as 
we  passed  Rosemount,  "is  a  pretty  doll's 
house." 

Rosemount  is  just  that.  A  white  house  with 
a  green  slate  roof;  a  neat  little  forecourt  of 
green  turf  divided  by  a  brick-on-edge  path. 
An  auraucaria  on  one  side,  an  Irish  yew  on  the 
other;  a  little  white  gate;  red  blinds,  half- 
drawn,  in  all  the  windows.  Charming  with  the 
gleam  of  sunlight  shining  on  wet  slates  and 
splashing  half  the  face.  I  told  him  that  they 
called  it  Naboth's  Vineyard  at  the  Castle. 

"So!"  he  said,  and  frowned  over  the  name. 

I  explained  that  it  was  the  only  house  in  the 
whole  town — the  only  house  in  the  whole 
district — which  did  not  belong  to  the  Mal- 
lesons.  It  involved  a  long  story — about  a 
mistress  of  Sir  Alastair  Malleson,  who  had  it 
given  her  and  used  it  to  affront  the  lady  he 


EUPHEMIA  121 

subsequently  married.  Euphemia  Grant  her 
name  was,  and  it  had  belonged  to  her  family 
ever  since.  The  story  was  picturesque  be- 
cause of  its  excrescence.  A  blight  upon  our 
host's  family  was  believed  to  depend  upon  it. 

The  Baron,  greatly  interested,  pulled  up  his 
pony.  "Tell  me  that  story,  if  you  please/' 
he  said,  and  fixed  me  with  his  eye. 

The  story  very  shortly  was  that  Sir  Alastair, 
who  afterwards  went  out  in  the  '45  and  was 
shot  at  Derby  from  behind  a  hedge,  had  in  his 
roaming  days  carried  off  Euphemia  Grant  and 
kept  her  at  the  Castle.  There  she  reigned 
until  he  took  a  wife.  Euphemia's  people, 
who  had  been  quite  in  a  small  way,  instead  of 
disowning  her,  as  you  might  have  expected, 
took  her  back  again,  and  set  her  up  in  Rose- 
mount  as  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  Sir  Alastair. 
She  was  known  to  the  country  as  Madam 
Grant,  and  grew  to  be  much  respected  for  her 
implacability.  She  never  married,  but  lived 
at  Rosemount  alone  when,  in  the  course  of 
nature  and  the  law,  the  place  was  left  to  her. 
On  her  death-bed  she  cursed  the  Mallesons, 
declaring  that  there  would  never  be  a  daugh- 
ter to  the  house  again  while  Rosemount 


122  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

stood.  The  odd  thing  was  that  there  never 
had  been.  Sir  Alastair's  wife  had  two  sons, 
but  no  daughter.  His  successor,  Sir  Archi- 
bald, had  no  children  at  all.  Sir  Ronald 
had  sons  and  a  daughter  who  died  a  child; 
and  so  it  had  gone  on  until  here  was  Sir  Rod- 
erick a  widower  with  a  regiment  of  sons  and 
no  daughter.  One  might  laugh,  in  England, 
at  such  things;  but  they  didn't  laugh  in 
Scotland.  Sir  Roderick  believed  in  it  as  he 
did  in  the  Old  Testament.  He  had  so  far 
demeaned  himself  as  to  write  with  his  own 
hand  to  the  owner  of  Rosemount.  He  would 
give  anything  you  please  for  the  place.  But 
the  Grants  persisted,  and  could  not  be  moved. 
An  old  Peter  Grant  held  it  now;  but  he  was  a 
Glasgow  merchant  and  never  occupied  it. 
Nothing  would  induce  him  to  sell  it. 

The  Baron  seemed  to  think  this  absurd. 
In  his  country,  he  said,  they  would  make  short 
work  of  Peter  Grant.  I  asked  him,  How? 
lightly  enough,  and  a  very  odd  thing  occurred. 
I  saw  him  suddenly  transported  with  rage. 
His  eyes  flashed  fire;  he  was  purplish  red  in 
the  face.  He  shook  his  fist  at  the  sky. 
"How?"  he  trumpeted.  "How?  Why,  we 


EUPHEMIA  123 

squeeze  him!"  Shkveeze  him! — I  can't  find 
signs  to  express  it.  But  the  concentration  of 
shuddering  rage  which  he  put  into  it  would 
pass  your  belief.  I  was  astounded,  and  he 
saw  I  was,  for  he  instantly  laughed  it  off. 
"The  damned  fellow!"  he  said  lightly,  and 
began  to  talk  of  something  else.  I  thought 
about  this  outburst  for  a  long  time.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  he  wanted  to  squeeze  some- 
body, and  equally  clear  that  it  wasn't  Peter 
Grant. 

He  was  all  smiles  and  nods  and  becks  at  the 
Gathering,  however.  He  was  introduced  to 
the  local  Marchioness,  and  stayed  it  out  to 
the  last.  I  think  he  would  have  seen  the 
fireworks  with  a  little  encouragement.  Wyn- 
yard,  as  usual,  tossed  the  pine-stem.  I  saw 
the  Baron  look  wistful.  He  rode  across  the 
field  to  shake  hands  with  him  for  that;  and 
Wynyard  thanked  him. 

The  day  ended  with  a  sort  of  enthronization 
of  Helena.  She  gave  away  the  prizes,  and  did 
it  charmingly.  Without  a  hint  to  the  purpose, 
by  the  intuition  which  all  nice  women  have, 
she  made  the  little  speeches  to  the  agonists 
which  mean  so  much  to  them.  Pierpoint  got 


i24  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

one,  Wynyard,  of  course,  two,  and  several  fine 
blue-eyed  Malleso'ns  from  the  hills  heard  their 
names  and  exploits  from  her  smiling  lips. 
Sanders  Malleson,  the  piper,  when  he  got  his, 
nearly  burst  with  pride.  His  eye  flashed,  he 
threw  his  head  up;  then  he  bowed  deeply  to 
her,  turned  and  struck  up  the  Austrian 
Anthem.  He  marched  away  with  it  as  if  he 
were  plunging  into  battle.  Helena  stood  where 
she  was  perched  up  on  the  dais  and  watched 
him  with  clasped  hands.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  at  the  reckless  finery  of  the  noise.  She 
was  no  Austrian,  but  the  good  chap  didn't 
know  that — and,  of  course,  she  knew  that 
he  didn't.  It  was  the  swagger  and  gallantry 
as  much  as  the  compliment  which  moved  her. 
The  Baron,  sitting  his  pony,  took  off  his 
hat  and  watched  everything  from  beneath 
frowning  brows.  I  don't  think  he  liked  it. 
But  he  made  a  point  of  congratulating  Pier- 
point  upon  his  triumphs. 


IX 
THE  BALL 

ALL  this  by  way  of  prelude  to  the  ball  which 
followed  it.  That  was  Helena's  day.  There 
was  nobody  to  touch  her.  She  had  been  quiet 
at  the  Gathering,  sedate  while  all  the  young 
men  capered  and  ran  about,  as  it  were,  for  her 
approving  smiles.  And  they  got  them,  no 
doubt;  but  they  all  had  their  share.  She 
gave  them  back  all  that  they  gave  her.  She 
had  had  herself  well  in  hand  that  day,  and 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  calling  her  thirty 
at  least.  But  at  the  ball  she  looked  like  a  girl. 
She  wore  cloth  of  silver,  cut  rather  narrow, 
and  made  very  plainly.  Her  neck  was  bare 
of  ornament.  She  had  a  snake — a  flexible 
snake — of  silver  in  her  hair;  and  I  believe 
that  was  all.  You  didn't  want  jewels  with 
eyes  like  hers.  Hector  got  flowers  for  her, 
but  she  couldn't  dance  with  flowers  in  her 
hand  and  soon  discarded  them.  Her  best 
flowers  were  in  her  cheeks.  She  was  naturally 

a  pale  woman ;  but  she  was  excited.    That  gave 

125 


126  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

her  an  exquisite  flush.  There's  a  rose  called 
Madame  de  Watteville  which  comes  nearest 
to  it.  She  certainly  was  a  lovely  creature 
that  night —  and  she  danced  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  very  end  of  the  end. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  Highland  things — 
reels  and  strathspeys — my  poor  friend  would 
have  had  no  show;  for  Hector  was  no  dancer. 
You  could  see  that  by  the  look  of  him.  He 
held  himself  too  stiffly;  he  was  too  serious; 
if  you  understand  me,  he  was  too  much  the 
gentleman  for  anything  short  of  a  contredanse 
or  a  minuet.  He  would  have  tripped  through 
that  I  don't  doubt.  He  was  good  at  bowing, 
and  used  to  take  his  hat  off  as  if  he  was  going 
into  church  when  he  met  a  lady.  But  I  don't 
think  anything  would  have  tempted  him  to 
put  his  arm  round  a  girl's  waist — I  mean,  any 
waist;  and  as  for  banging  her  about  in  the 
ultra-modern  way,  he  would  sooner  have  gone 
to  hell — indeed,  would  have  been  there  while 
he  was  at  that  rude  game.  So  he  took  the 
reels  in  her  company,  and  I  caught  sight  of 
them  now  and  again — of  him  talking  and  of 
her  looking  down  at  her  silver  toes  while  she 
listened.  She  wasn't  a  great  talker,  but  she 


THE  BALL  127 

was  an  awfully  good  listener.  She  was  one 
of  the  women  to  whom  men  love  to  talk  of 
themselves.  She  chattered  nonsense  to  the 
boys  like  any  girl,  however — to  Patrick  and 
some  of  his  pert  young  friends.  As  for  Pier- 
point — well,  personally,  I  was  touched  by  her 
excitement  and  complacency  in  his  company. 
I  had  one  dance  with  her  myself,  about 
midway  through  the  first  act — the  before- 
supper  act — during  which  things  were  going 
pretty  well.  I  mean  that  the  Marchioness 
was  there,  with  two  of  her  girls,  the  Ladies 
Rosalind  and  Alice,  and  that  Pierpoint,  who 
was  a  great  intimate  at  Dunmally,  had  done 
something  of  his  duty  by  them.  Lady  Lar- 
bert  was  a  little,  thin,  upright  woman  with 
very  bright  black  eyes.  She  wore  a  tiara 
better  than  anyone  I  ever  saw,  as  if  she  had 
every  right  to  it — birth,  purchase  and  air — 
which  she  certainly  had.  She  was  noble,  she 
was  rich,  and  very  smart.  She  was  so  smart 
that  she  had  no  need  whatever  for  seeming 
to  be.  So  she  never  did.  Even  when  she 
wore  her  diamonds  she  didn't  seem  to  know 
it.  She  had  her  fancies — one  of  them  was  to 
be  bored  at  Inveroran;  another  was  to  be  fond 


128  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

of  Pierpoint.  She  must  have  known  what 
he  was,  and  she  ought  to  have  known  that  he 
would  never  do  for  one  of  her  girls — but  she 
risked  that  because  she  liked  his  good  looks. 

She  didn't  approve  of  Helena.  I  saw  her 
eyes  glitter  bleakly  as  the  pretty  creature 
was  switched  about  by  our  high-coloured 
young  friend.  But  she  had  no  pique  for 
him;  she  put  it  all  down  to  Helena's  score, 
and  paid  off  part  of  it  by  striking  up  a  great 
friendship  with  the  Baron.  They  hobnobbed 
at  considerable  length  in  the  anteroom,  the 
conservatory,  and  elsewhere,  and  I  should 
like  to  have  overheard  them,  because  the 
Baron  could  be  the  very  best  of  company 
when  he  pleased.  There  was  nothing  local 
about  him.  He  was  the  perfect  cosmopolitan. 
I  heard  also  afterwards — as  I  might  have 
supposed — that  he  knew  at  least  two  of  her 
boys,  the  one  at  Bucharest,  the  other  in 
Constantinople.  He  had  probably  met  Dun- 
mally,  the  eldest,  in  several  places,  proper 
and  improper. 

But,  on  the  whole,  and  with  one  unfor- 
tunate exception,  there  was  no  trouble  until 
the  Larberts  were  off  our  hands. 


THE  BALL  129 

My  own  dance  with  Helena  was  a  revela- 
tion to  me,  though  I  had  understood  that 
Austrians  could  dance.  It  was  like  floating 
a  rose-leaf,  it  was  like  steering  a  foam-bubble. 
She  was  exquisitely  yet  impalpably  there; 
the  leading  spirit  drawing  you  on,  inexhaust- 
ible yet  subservient.  She  inspired  rather 
than  led  you.  It  was  like  the  guidance  of  a 
spirit — the  spirit  of  wingless  flight.  Wings 
would  have  been  an  offence  to  such  motion 
as  she  evoked.  You  would  have  felt  their 
beat,  it  would  have  jarred.  Her  motion  was 
rather  that  of  a  stream  of  soft  strong  wind, 
filling  space,  and  drawing  you  after  it  into 
finer  and  cleaner  climes.  She  didn't  talk, 
nor  did  I;  she  seemed  not  to  breathe — and 
we  didn't  stop  until  the  music  had  ceased  to 
be.  I  was  intoxicated  and  unwilling  to  leave 
her.  At  the  moment  I  felt  like  drawing  her 
out  into  the  air,  and  on  and  on,  over  the  world 
— to  possess  altogether  this  divinely  rare  being. 

But  we  behaved  after  the  human  fashion, 
and  talked  as  rationally  as  might  be.  I  hope 
that  she  didn't  see  what  she  might  have  done 
with  me  at  the  time;  and  yet  I'm  not  at  all 
sure  that  she  did  not.  I  remember  that  she 
9 


130  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

pleaded  with  me  like  a  child,  as  if  excusing 
herself  for  naughtiness. 

"You  don't  like  me — you  don't  approve  o* 
me.  No — I  feel  it.  But  I'm  happy,  and  you 
ought  not  to  mind  that. "  This  was  heady  talk. 

"Did  I  know,"  she  said,  "that  she  hadn't 
danced  for  seven  and  a  half  years?" 

I  didn't — and  didn't  quite  believe  it. 

She  assured  me  it  was  true.  "He — my 
husband — didn't  like  it  after " 

She  didn't  finish.  I  said,  "Then  he  won't 
like  me." 

Her  eyes  were  wide.  "Oh,  yes.  He  does 
like  you.  He  likes  you  very  much.  He  doesn't 
mind  it  here.  He  likes  nearly  everybody  here. " 

"  So  do  you,  Baroness,  I  hope. " 

She  sighed. 

"Do  you  know, "  she  said,  " that  I  have  been 
breathing  ever  since  I  came  to  England. 
Deep,  deep  breaths  I  have  taken — to  make  up 
what  I  have  lost." 

That  was  touching,  and  left  me  speechless; 
but  there  was  more  to  come.  She  looked 
timidly  at  me.  There  was  a  humid  brightness 
in  her  eyes  which  should  have  warned  me 
that  she  was  going  to  be  unreserved. 


THE  BALL  131 

"You  won't  misunderstand  me?  I  shall 
tell  you  what  it  is  that  I  breathe.  It  is  good- 
will." 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  "you  will  find  oceans  of 
that." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  "and  it  is  so  good  for  me. 
Do  you  know  what  I  want  more  than  every- 
thing in  the  world?  It  is  to  be  liked  by 
people. " 

"Dear  Baroness,"  I  said,  "everybody  in 
England  will  love  you — "  and  there  I  was  cut 
off  by  Pierpoint,  come  to  claim  his  share 
in  my  promise. 

I  don't  want  to  exaggerate —  and  it's  not 
at  all  necessary.  I  believe  I  am  right  in 
stating  that,  after  supper,  Master  Pierpoint 
danced  with  her  all  the  rest  of  the  night.  Of 
course  I  wasn't  there  all  the  time — I  was 
dancing  myself,  as  the  business  seemed,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  air.  I  was  dancing,  and  I  was 
sitting  out,  and  when  I  wasn't  doing  one  of 
those  things  I  was  smoking  cigarettes  in  the 
conservatory,  which  opens  on  to  what  they 
call  the  East  drawing-room.  It  used  to  be 
Lady  Mary's  own  room  in  her  days.  But 
whenever  I  was  dancing,  Pierpoint  was  whirl- 


132  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

ing  Helena  about;  or  if  he  wasn't  doing  that 
he  had  her  tucked  away  somewhere.  That 
was  what  led  to  trouble — a  momentary 
trouble.  She  was  to  have  supped  with  the 
grandees — but  that's  just  what  she  didn't 
do.  Sir  Roderick  had  intended  to  arm  her 
into  that;  but  he  couldn't  find  her;  nor  could 
anybody  else.  My  belief  is  that  she  had 
supper  in  another  part  of  the  house  altogether, 
but  I  don't  know  it  for  a  fact.  There  was 
consequently  some  electricity  about.  It  was 
rather  pink  for  a  bit.  When  no  one  was 
looking  I  abstracted  her  name-card,  and  with 
the  connivance  of  Miss  Bacchus,  friendly  old 
soul,  bridged  the  gap.  Lady  Larbert  glittered 
like  a  frost. 

Later  on,  of  course,  everybody  noticed  the 
goings-on  of  the  pair,  and  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  chattering  among  the  resting  couples. 
Sir  Roderick  was  cross,  and,  as  usual  on  such 
occasions,  seemed  to  think  it  was  done  to  hurt 
his  feelings.  He  was  always  like  that.  He 
confided  himself  to  Hector,  I  am  sure.  I  saw 
him  puffing  his  cheeks,  and  spreading  out  his 
chest;  I  caught,  "Consideration  for  me,  sir — 
the  commonest  civility — "  and  guessed  the 


THE  BALL  133 

rest.  But  the  Baron,  as  you  may  guess,  never 
turned  a  hair.  He  watched  her,  as  he  watched 
everything;  but  he  set  his  face  harder  than  a 
rock,  and  was  always  ready  with  his  joke  or 
his  elaborate  bow.  Did  he  feel  that  she  was 
slipping  through  his  fingers?  Ah,  I  don't 
know. 

I  had  thought  her  a  tallish  woman,  and  at 
Gironeggio  in  particular  I  thought  that  she 
looked  every  day  of  her  age.  In  Pierpoint's 
arms  she  looked  to  me  like  a  slip  of  a  girl, 
so  light  that  her  little  feet  scarcely  brushed 
the  floor.  The  top  of  her  head  reached  his 
collar,  I  suppose;  her  cheek  lay  against  the 
hollow  of  his  shoulder.  The  other  was 
flushed  and  sleek.  Her  eyes  looked  heavy, 
and  she  seldom  raised  them  as  he  steered  or 
swirled  her  about.  Being  of  the  race  she  was, 
you  may  be  sure  that  she  could  dance — I 
have  told  you  what  I  thought  of  it;  being  of 
the  sort  he  was,  you  may  be  sure  of  him,  too. 
They  made  a  brave  show — and  not  a  year's 
difference  between  them,  to  look  at  them. 
You  couldn't  expect  a  pretty  woman  not  to 
like  that  kind  of  thing.  She  liked  it  awfully. 
She  drank  it  as  her  old  Baron  used  to  drink 


134  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

cigar-smoke.  And  why  on  earth  not,  as  Miss 
Bacchus  said.  She  couldn't  drink  cigar- 
smoke — nor  anything  else:  at  any  rate,  she 
never  did  drink  anything  but  water.  So  why, 
asked  Miss  Bacchus,  shouldn't  she  drink 
music  and  motion,  and  young  men's  homage, 
and  young  men's  breath?  That's  what  she 
asked  me — and  I  couldn't  answer  her.  "Hang 
it,  man,"  said  the  old  virgin,  "she's  not 
cattle.  If  he  drinks,  let  her  drink.  That's 
what  I  say."  She  said  more — but  I  respect 
my  pen. 

There  would  have  been  an  explosion  at  the 
end — saved  by  the  Baron  from  being  rather 
serious.  The  Dunmally  lot  left  after  supper, 
and  other  guests  from  outside  began  to  go 
away  at  about  two  in  the  morning.  By  three 
or  half  past  they  were  all  away.  But  the 
house-party  kept  it  up.  The  last  dance  was 
somewhere  about  five;  and  then  we  all  had 
coffee  and  buns,  and,  as  Colonel  Vane  would 
say,  "By  Gad,  sir,  we  wanted  it." 

The  cigarettes  came  round;  the  girls  began 
to  smoke;  Helena  would  not.  She  was  very 
still  and  rich  with  her  escapade.  I  thought 


THE  BALL  135 

her  breathing  showed  that  she  was  trying  to 
recover  herself.  The  Baron  lit  a  cigar,  and 
looked  at  her  over  the  horrible  dancing  flame 
of  his  match.  I  thought  he  wanted  to  catch 
her  eye;  but  he  didn't. 

Pierpoint  got  up  and  pulled  the  curtains 
back.  Then  he  opened  the  window  wide  and 
looked  out,  whistling  softly  to  himself. 

He  turned  round  with  his  fine  face  spark- 
ling with  devilry.  "I  say,  it's  a  ripping  night. 
Stars  all  over  the  place — some  of  them  like 
lamps.  There'll  be  a  gorgeous  sunrise.  Who'll 
come  with  me  up  the  Ben?" 

There  was  a  hush.  I  saw  the  Baron  pull 
himself  together.  Patrick  said,  "I  shall  cleave 
to  my  brother."  Another  youth  said, 
"Right-o, "  and  looked  at  his  late  partner. 
They  were  all  for  it. 

Pierpoint  was  looking  at  Helena,  Hector  was 
looking  at  her,  so  was  her  husband.'  Presently 
it  came  to  pass  that  everybody  was  either 
looking  at  her,  or  waiting  for  what  she  would 
do.  It  was  a  "test  case,"  said  Miss  Bacchus, 
perspicuous  as  usual. 

She  sat  there,  breathing  deeply,  looking 
down  at  her  hand  on  the  table.  I  know  that 


136  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

she  wanted  to  go.  I  know  that  if  she  had 
gone,  there  would  have  been  a  row.  Hector 
would  have  lost  his  temper.  Sir  Roderick 
had  lost  his  already. 

The  Baron  said,  "My  friend,  they  want 
you  to  go.  The  air  will  do  you  good. " 

It  was  brave  of  him.  He  did  it  very  well 
indeed.  As  for  her,  she  looked  at  nobody  but 
Sir  Roderick — neither  at  her  husband,  nor 
Hector,  nor  at  Pierpoint.  To  Sir  Roderick 
she  said,  "It  would  be  delightful,  but  I  am 
too  tired.  As  it  is,  I  shall  sleep  forever." 
Then  she  got  up  and  smiled  rather  appeal- 
ingly — still  at  Sir  Roderick — "I  shall  say 
good-night  while  it  is  still  dark."  And  then 
she  went  quietly  away.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
said,  "I  know  I  have  been  a  naughty  girl, 
but  you  see  how  good  I  am  trying  to  be  now. " 

The  Baron  said,  "So!"  and  resumed  his 
cigar.  The  young  ones  fidgeted  about  to  see 
what  Pierpoint  meant  to  do.  Wynyard  went 
off  to  bed,  and  so  did  I,  gladly.  I  believe  that 
the  rest  of  them  did  the  deed.  Pierpoint  in 
the  sulks  went  up  exactly  as  he  was — in 
dancing  pumps.  He  ought  to  have  limped  for 
the  rest  of  his  leave,  but  he  didn't. 


X 
SEQUEUE 

HECTOR  was  very  unhappy,  it  was  evident, 
and  I  don't  wonder.  To  be  cut  out  by  your 
younger  brother  is  not  jolly;  and  when  he 
is  so  resplendently  the  better  man  in  form 
and  favour,  you  have  the  desperate  feeling 
of  the  foregone  conclusion  to  add  to  your 
other  troubles.  It  doesn't  make  things  any 
better  to  remind  a  man  who  is  getting  the 
worst  of  the  deal  that  he  doesn't  deserve  any- 
thing better.  Perhaps  they  were  a  pair  of 
rascals — though  I  don't  admit  it;  but  even 
if  they  were,  Hector  was  a  gentleman.  A 
gentleman  will  fall  in  love  with  another  man's 
wife  if  he — well,  if  he  does.  He  can't  help 
his  feelings — or  his  tentacles,  if  you  like. 
It's  when  he  makes  love  to  such  a  lady  that 
the  world  calls  him  names,  and — if  he  is  unsuc- 
cessful— opprobrious  names.  Hector  would 
have  been  very  ready  to  meet  the  world  on 
its  own  ground.  He  abounded  in  theory  and 
loved  an  argument;  but  in  this  case  I  am 

137 


138  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

pretty  sure  that  he  had  done  no  love-making 
— unless  you  call  his  talks  about  the  rights  of 
beauty  love-making.  It's  a  fine  point  that. 
Now,  as  for  Mr.  Pierpoint,  he  was  a  pirate — 
a  freebooter,  as  you  shall  hear. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  ball — on  the  day, 
in  fact,  appointed  for  the  von  Broderodes' 
departure,  Miss  Bacchus  sought  me  out  with 
an  air  of  mystery.  She  came  into  the  library 
where  I  was  alone  and  peacefully  at  work, 
and  required  me  to  walk  with  her.  "I  shall 
be  on  the  terrace,"  she  said,  and  left  me  to 
my  conclusions. 

When  we  were  well  away,  on  the  river 
walk,  she  said,  "You  are  Hector's  friend  and 
will  do  what  you  think  proper.  I've  had 
it  out  with  her — no,  that's  wrong;  she  had 
it  out  with  me.  She  did  it  rather  prettily. 
She  came  and  sat  by  me  in  the  morning- 
room,  and  after  a  bit  put  her  hand  on  mine, 
and  spoke  with  her  head  on  one  side,  as  if 
she  was  matching  skeins.  You  know."  I 
did.  "Presently  she  said,  'Miss  Bacchus, 
I  should  like  you  to  talk  to  me  a  little.  I 
thought  that  you  looked  kind — I  thought 
so  directly  I  saw  you. '  I  told  her  that  I  was 


SEQUELAE  139 

the  kindest  old  thing  on  two  legs,  with  a  bark, 
but  no  bite,  for  good  people.  That  rather 
caught  her.  She  said,  'I  hope  I  am  good. 
I  ought  to  be.  I  want  to  be.'  And  then  she 
began  and  told  me  all  about  it.  She's  a  good 
girl,  you  know." 

"Miss  Bacchus,"  I  said,  "before  you  begin? 
let  me  beg  of  you:  no  secrets  of  the  bower." 

"Gracious,"  said  she.  "Don't  you  be 
afraid.  You  won't  get  any  secrets  out  of  me 
— because  there  aren't  any — or,  if  there  are, 
I  don't  know  'em.  But  I  don't  believe  it. 
You  know  Pierpoint  every  bit  as  well  as  I 
do " 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  don't  believe  I  do.  He's 
no  friend  of  mine — and  couldn't  be,  since 
I'm  Hector's  friend.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
this  time  he's  hardly  exchanged  a  word  with 


me." 


"I  think  he's  a  rogue,"  said  Miss  Bacchus; 
"but  she  doesn't.  She  admits  that  he's  made 
a  great  impression  on  her.  She  says  that 
what  makes  it  difficult  is  that  her  husband 
seems  to  like  him.  Now,  I  don't  understand 
that." 

"I  do,"  I  said.    "He  hates  him  like  poison, 


140  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

really,  but  he  despises  him.  He  knows  that 
he  could  deal  with  the  likes  of  Pierpoint.  But 
he  has  a  respect  for  Hector,  who  he  thinks 
has  done  him  a  really  bad  turn.  He  hates 
Hector  fundamentally — Pierpoint  just  on  the 
surface.  Pierpoint's  a  flea  to  him;  Hector's 
a  disease." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Bacchus,  "you're  taking 
me  out  of  my  depth.  I  don't  know  anything 
of  psychology — never  did.  All  I  know  is 
that  Pierpoint  kissed  her  the  night  of  the 
ball." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  should  think  so." 

"Just  what  I  said  to  her,"  said  Miss 
Bacchus.  "'I'll  warrant  him,'  I  said.  But 
she  was  very  penitent." 

"I  like  her  for  that,"  I  said.  "She's  got 
a  gentle  heart." 

"Amor  a  cor  gentile  ratio  s'apprende" 
said  Miss  Bacchus  with  aptness  and  elegance. 

"  I  made  little  of  it.  '  Pooh ! '  I  said, '  what's 
a  kiss  in  a  conservatory?'  Then  she  was 
really  rather  funny,  poor  dear " 

"No  secrets  of  the  bower,"  I  implored  her, 
but  she  was  inexorable  with  a  good  tale  in 
her  head. 


SEQUELS  141 

"Helena  said,  'No,  I  suppose  not — but 
one  was  in  the  library.'  I  did  my  best,  but 
she  felt  me  shaking — and  looked  so  unhappy 
that  I  gave  her  a  kiss  myself." 

"That  was  kind  of  you,"  I  said. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Bacchus,  "damn  it  all, 
you  know." 

I  thought  myself  that  the  story  was  a  good 
one,  but  that  two  kisses  admitted  was  rather 
a  serious  matter — from  all  points  of  view. 
It  almost  established  a  habit,  it  certainly 
established  a  precedent.  Miss  Bacchus  took 
a  more  robust  view. 

"She's  a  very  pretty  woman,"  said  she; 
"he'd  been  dancing  with  her  all  the  evening 
— and  there  you  are.  I  don't  think  there's 
much  in  it.  But  you  must  decide  for  yourself 
what  you  are  going  to  say  to  Hector." 

"Oh,  Hector!"  I  said  at  once.  "Poor 
chap,  I  shall  say  nothing  at  all,  unless  he 
speaks  to  me.  Least  said  soonest  mended. 
I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  shall  respect  her 
confidence,  since  you  have  handed  it  on  to 
me.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  have  done 
it,  to  be  candid  with  you.  It  shall  go  no 
further — I  promise  you  that." 


i42  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Well,  I  should  think  not,"  said  she.  "I 
had  my  reasons  for  telling  you — and  I  thought 
you  were  to  be  trusted." 

:'Your  exquisite  reason — "  I  demanded, 
and  she  told  me. 

"Von  Broderode  has  asked  Pierpoint  out 
to  his  place  in  the  winter — for  shooting  or 
hunting.  He's  going.  Now  Helena  don't 
want  him  to  come — or  tells  me  so.  But  he's 
going,  I  believe.  Can't  you  get  Hector  to 
go,  too?  That's  what  I  want  you  to  do." 

I  was  startled.  "My  dear  friend,  how  on 
earth  am  I  to  ask  Hector  to  go  and  shoot 
with  another  man?  You  can  hardly  be 
serious." 

"I  assure  you  that  I'm  not  a  fool,"  she 
said.  "Helena  herself  is  going  to  ask  Hector. 
She  thinks — she's  afraid — he  will  refuse  to 
come." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "after  the  way  she  has 
treated  him " 

"I  know,"  said  Miss  Bacchus.  "That's 
what  she  feels,  too.  Now  it's  up  to  you  to 
get  him  round.  Don't  frighten  him,  you 
know.  Just  wake  him  up." 

I  shook  my  head.    "I  should  frighten  him. 


SEQUELS  143 

No,  no.  That  won't  do.  She  must  ask  him 
herself." 

"I  tell  you  she  means  to,"  said  Miss 
Bacchus.  I  stopped  our  walk  and  spoke  my 
mind.  I  said,  "Look,  here  Miss  Bacchus,  this 
is  pretty  bad,  you  know.  She's  at  least  four 
years  older  than  Pierpoint;  and  if  he's  a 
rogue,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  she  ought  to 
know  better.  Hector's  is  another  affair  alto- 
gether. You  know  what  he  is.  You  know 
that  he  would  never  do  her  any  harm.  Well, 
now  she  ought  to  have  met  him  more  than 
half-way.  If  you  ask  me,  I  think  that  he'll  be 
well  out  of  it  all.  He's  been  wretched  enough 
here — and  it's  her  fault.  No,  no.  I  am  for 
letting  him  get  over  it." 

Miss  Bacchus  had  been  preparing  herself 
for  me  while  I  was  holding  forth.  I  saw  it 
in  her  fishy  old  eye.  It  was  a  cold,  greenish, 
calculating  eye — as  flat  as  a  snake's. 

She  said,  "My  fine  man,  your  rhetoric  has 
carried  your  wits  away.  That  woman  is  a 
child  at  heart.  She  was  married  out  of  a 
convent  to  that  old  rake.  God  knows  what 
he's  done  with  her — and  God  only  knows. 
But  I  know,  and  so  do  you,  that  he's  kept 


144  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

her  to  himself.  I  don't  suppose  she  has 
talked  to  a  man  for  ten  minutes  alone  since 
she's  been  married.  What  have  years  got 
to  do  with  it?  They  may  make  a  fool  of  her, 
if  you  like — that's  all  the  difference  they'll 
make.  She'll  go  to  the  deuce,  and  the  likes 
of  you  will  say  she  ought  to  have  known 
better.  How  on  earth  could  she  know?  Don't 
talk  such  nonsense.  You  ought  to  know  Hector 
better  than  I  do.  He's  your  friend,  not 
mine.  But  I'm  as  sure  as  I  stand  here  that 
Hector  would  rather  be  in  the  fire  than  let 
her  slip  into  trouble.  And  there's  another 
thing.  So  far  as  I  can  understand,  it  is  he 
who  has  brought  her  up  to  the  edge  of  trouble. 
Very  well,  then,  the  least  he  can  do  is  to  pull 
her  back  again." 

I  had  to  confess  that  she  was  right. 

The  crisis  was  reached  at  luncheon.  The 
von  Broderodes  were  leaving  by  the  four 
o'clock  train.  They  were  going  on  to  the 
Marquis's  for  a  week  on  their  way  to  London. 
That  had  been  understood.  What  was  not 
understood  by  the  Baron  was  that  Pierpoint 
was  going  to  the  Marquis's,  too. 

During  lunch  von  Broderode  made  a  kind 


SEQUELAE  145 

of  speech  to  Sir  Roderick.  It  became  a  kind 
of  speech.  "I  am  glad  to  have  seen  your 
beautiful  country  under  your  care,"  he  said. 
"I  believe  that  I  have  seen  the  most  beautiful 
part  of  it.  Perhaps  that  is  not  fair  to  Scot- 
land; but  it  is  very  good  for  me.  I  assure 
you  that  I  leave  you  painfully."  Sir  Roderick 
crowed  like  a  moor  cock. 

"My  dear  Baron,  you  must  pay  us  another 
visit.  Now  that  you  have  found  us  out, 
hey?" 

The  Baron  twinkled  and  shone.  "Yes,  I 
have  found  you  out."  He  was  looking  full 
at  Pierpoint  as  he  said  it — he  used  a  rich  full 
voice,  with  mockery  in  it — at  least,  it  sounded 
so  to  me.  "I  know  what  to  expect  of  you. 
The  welcome  Highlander,  as  you  say."  Patrick 
kicked  me  under  the  table.  "  But  before  that 
happens,  you  are  coming  to  try  your  luck 
in  Galicia — ha  ?  "  This,  of  course,  to  Pierpoint 
who  said,  "Thanks,  yes.  I  should  love  it." 

"That  is  good  for  all  of  us,"  said  the  Baron, 
and  looked  all  round  the  table.  Then  it  was 
that  Helena,  in  clear  tones,  to  be  heard  by 
everybody,  spoke  to  Hector. 

"I  hope  very  much  that  you  will  come 


10 


146  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

with  your  brother,"  she  said.  "You  will  be 
pleased  with  Galicia.  I  wish  you  to  like  it 
so  much."  She  spoke  studiedly,  but  with 
great  courage.  She  was  pale,  but  had  very 
bright  eyes. 

I  never  saw  the  Baron  put  out  before.  He 
was  angry  this  time.  His  nostrils  opened 
wide.  As  for  his  eyes,  they  blazed.  He  said 
nothing  at  all,  but  looked  straight  at  the 
man  he  believed  his  enemy.  I  was  right 
and  Miss  Bacchus  was  wrong.  It  was  Hector 
he  feared. 

He  got  over  it  in  a  moment,  but  he  didn't 
back  up  his  wife's  move.  Hector  flushed 
deeply,  and  murmured  that  he  should  be 
most  happy.  I  gathered  from  the  way  he 
said  it  that  he  didn't  mean  to  go — and  I 
don't  wonder.  But  she  might  make  him — she 
probably  would.  I  felt  sure  that  she  would  try. 

After  lunch  is  always  a  desultory  sort  of 
time.  One  loafs  about  and  wants  tea.  But 
I  saw  that  Helena  got  what  she  wanted — 
a  tete-a-tete  with  Hector.  Pierpoint  had  dis- 
appeared. They  went  off  together  over  the 
lawn,  and  I  had  to  imagine  the  rest.  I  am 
sure  she  meant  to  be  kind  to  him. 


SEQUELS  147 

And  then  they  went.  Pierpoint  was  not 
with  them.  But  he  had  left  Inveroran  already, 
in  his  own  trap.  They  seemed  to  think  he 
would  go  directly  to  Dublin  from  Dunmally. 
His  leave  was  nearly  up. 

That  was  the  night  of  the  servants'  ball. 
I  had  two  dances  with  Ethel  Cook,  the  hand- 
some housemaid.  She  was  easily  the  queen  of 
that  party;  none  of  our  girls  came  near  her, 
though  Elspeth  Muir  was  an  uncommonly 
pretty  girl. 

Ethel  Cook  was  dressed  in  grey,  and  had 
a  red  rose  in  her  hair.  She  talked  quite  well, 
but  was  rather  reserved.  I  said  something 
about  the  day's  departures,  that  it  was  a  pity 
Mr.  Pierpoint  wasn't  there.  She  said,  with 
a  dry  voice,  that  he  was  better  employed. 


XI 
THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR 

SHORTLY  after  these  events  I  went  South  and 
got  immersed  in  my  departmental  work  and 
the  mild  relaxations  of  a  London  before 
Christmas.  I  had  had  no  confidences  from 
Hector.  He  did  not  choose  to  discuss  his 
affairs,  and  I  couldn't  question  him  about 
them.  I  can't  say  that  he  was  even  normally 
cheerful.  He  was  very  gentle;  but  he  was 
always  that.  On  the  other  hand,  he  wasn't 
in  the  deeps  of  misery.  He  held  his  head  up 
and  did  what  his  station  up  there  required 
of  him.  Just  as  I  was  leaving  he  said  that 
he  should  probably  see  me  in  London  during 
the  winter.  I  said  that  I  should  expect  to 
put  him  up — he  always  came  to  me  when  he 
was  in  London — and  he  made  no  immediate 
answer.  Then  he  said,  "It's  all  in  the  air  at 
present.  We'll  write  about  it."  That  was 
how  it  had  to  be  left. 

I  went  to  London,  I  got  busy,  I  saw  nobody 
connected  with  the  Mallesons,  I  forgot  the 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  149 

von  Broderode  comedy  and  all  to  do  with  it — • 
until  one  afternoon  in  November  when  I  went 
into  my  club.  There  in  the  hall  was  old 
Vane  in  the  act  to  depart,  with  cigar  in  mouth 
and  match  in  hand. 

We  hardly  know  each  other.  I  nodded  and 
passed  on  to  the  hat-peg  department.  But 
he  turned  and  called  after  me.  At  the  same 
moment  the  match  burned  his  finger. 

"D the  match,"  he  said  as  I  returned. 

"Oh,  I  say,  I  wish  you'd  clear  something  up 
for  me.  It's  about — "  and  here  he  began  to 
whisper — "it's  about  young  Malleson — you 
know  the  chap  I  mean.  Chap  in  the  i6th " 

"Pierpoint?"  I  was  all  there  in  a  second. 
"What's  he  been  up  to?" 

The  Colonel  looked  at  me  from  under  his 
glasses  with  the  intolerably  supercilious  effect 
that  trick  always  has — as  if  to  say,  'What 
kind  of  a  silly  ass  might  you  be?'  Then  he 
seemed  to  give  me  up. 

"Made  sure  you'd  know.  Why,  he's  sent 
in  his  papers.  That's  what  he's  done." 

I  thought  immediately  of  all  that  this  might 
mean.  "Are you  sure  about  that?"  was  what 
I  said — to  gain  time.  It  annoyed  the  Colonel. 


ISO  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"It's  in  the  Gazette — if  that's  what  you 
mean!  Now,  what's  he  been  up  to?"  That 
was  exactly  my  question  to  him  of  a  minute 
ago. 

I  said,  "I  haven't  heard  from  Hector  ever 
since  I  left  Inveroran.  But  I  expect  that 
I  shall  now.  Pierpoint  doesn't  love  me  very 
much — and  I've  never  given  him  any  reason 
why  he  should." 

"Oh,"  said  the  Colonel,  "I  think  he's  a 
rip.  But  they'll  stand  a  lot  of  that  kind  of 
thing.  But  I'm  sorry  for  the  old  chief — he's 
a  fine  old  cock.  This  will  make  him  moult 
a  tail-feather  or  two — I'll  -be  shot  if  it  don't." 
I  am  sorry  to  add  that  he  chuckeld  rather 
snugly  over  the  thought.  "Devilish  proud 
old  boy  is  the  chief.  And  Pierpoint  the 
apple  of  his  eye."  With  that  comfortable 
reflection  the  Colonel  grasped  his  umbrella 
firmly  in  the  midst  and  stalked  off  with  a 
curt  salutation. 

I  was  dead  certain  that  this  had  something 
to  do  with  Helena  von  Broderode,  though 
why  I  thought  so,  or  what  it  had  to  do  with 
her,  I  couldn't  tell  you.  And  it  was  one  of 
those  sort  of  things  you  can't  ask  about  for 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  151 

fear  of  the  worst.  Hector  was  in  my  thoughts 
— I  was  awfully  fond  of  Hector  in  my  own 
way — I  would  have  given  anything  to  see 
him.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done: 
I  must  wait  for  him,  quite  sure  that  sooner 
or  later  he  would  see  me  about  it.  I  don't 
mind  owning  that  for  a  week  or  more  I  slunk 
about  town  as  if  I  were  under  a  cloud.  I 
saw  Chevenix  in  Pall  Mall  one  afternoon,  and 
fairly  bolted  up  into  St.  James's  Square.  I 
was  careful  where  I  dined,  lest  I  should  happen 
upon  Miss  Bacchus.  She  would  have  raked 
me  fore  and  aft,  I  knew.  I  was  virtually  in 
hiding:  no  private  views,  no  first  nights. 
It  was  a  bad  time. 

Finally,  I  had  a  line  from  Hector — but 
that  wasn't  till  mid-December.  He  wrote 
very  shortly:  "I  must  be  in  London  for  a 
few  days  before  the  feast.  I  hope  very  much 
to  see  you.  You  can  put  me  up  for  a  night 
or  two,  I'm  sure.  Don't  ask  anybody  to 
meet  me. — H.  M.  M." 

He  came.  He  looked  very  serious;  but 
he  was  a  proud  chap  and  very  sensitive,  so 
I  let  him  have  his  head.  I  was  dining  out 


152  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

the  night  he  came,  and  returned  at  about 
eleven  or  half-past.  He  was  sitting  before 
the  fire  with  a  book  and  his  pipe. 

He  began  to  talk  with  an  effort — pure 
instinct  on  his  part  to  avoid  the  unavoidable. 
As  nearly  as  may  be  he  said  this: 

"You  know  that  Pierpoint  has  chucked 
the  Army,  of  course." 

I  said  that  I  had  been  told  so.  Had  they 
known  that  he  intended  it? 

"None  of  us  knew  it,"  he  said,  "until  he 
wrote  to  my  father.  Personally,  I  wasn't 
surprised.  You  see,  I  know  him." 

"What  did  your  father  say?"  I  asked. 

"He  made  out — or  tried  to  make  out — that 
he  was  very  glad  of  it.  He  admitted  that 
Pierpoint  was  his  favourite.  He  said  it  would 
be  a  comfort  to  him  to  have  him  at  home — 
and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  It  was  as  plain 
as  a  pikestaff  that  he  was  awfully  upset.  He 
couldn't  make  it  out  at  all." 

"But,"  I  said,  "he  didn't  suspect  anything 
awkward — any  trouble?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  he  did.  He  thinks  very 
highly  of  everything  belonging  to  him.  It 
would  pretty  well  kill  him.  I  hadn't  the  heart 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  153 

to  try  to  prepare  him — for  anything,  you  know. 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  something." 

I  said,  "My  dear  fellow,  I  can  see  that 
you  have  faced  it.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
it  if  you'd  rather  not.  Has  he  got  into  a 
mess,  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  think  he  has,"  he  said.  ."But 
I  think  he  intends  to." 

I  was  now  pretty  sure,  not  only  that  he 
did,  but  in  what  direction  his  mess  was  to  lie; 
but  I  said  nothing  at  the  moment.  I  waited 
for  Hector,  who  sat  up  before  me  like  a  bronze, 
burrowing  deeply  into  his  own  recesses. 

He  broke  out  in  such  an  unexpected  place 
that  I  gasped. 

"My  father  doesn't  like  her,  you  know," 
he  said.  "That's  the  worst  of  it."  This 
was  absurd.  Sir  Roderick  liked  everybody 
who  liked  him;  and  that  Helena  liked  him 
was  as  plain  as  my  cook. 

I  cast  my  hesitations  to  the  four  winds. 
"My  dear  Hector,"  I  said,  "you  don't  con- 
template— you  can't  contemplate  a  catas- 
trophe without  stirring  from  your  place!" 

He  said  with  perfect  gravity,  "I  don't  see 
what  I  can  do." 


154  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  was  difficult  to  deal  with  in  this  impas- 
sive mood.  He  seemed  to  be  in  another 
world,  breathing  an  alien  air,  subject  to  an 
alien  code  of  morals.  But  I  was  annoyed. 

"Do,  my  dear  chap!"  I  cried.  "You  can 
do  all  sorts  of  things — and  nobody  else  can 
do  anything.  Do  you  sit  there  and  tell  me 
that  you  intend  to  let  Pierpoint  go  out  to 
Galicia  alone?" 

He    didn't    move    a    muscle.      "I    am    not 
going  with  him,  if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

He  frightened  me.  I  thought  he  was  out 
of  his  mind.  And  after  that  I  was  doubly 
annoyed,  because  he  was  so  infernally  sane 
about  it. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "It's  your  affair, 
and  not  mine.  You  have  to  reflect  upon  your 
responsibilities,  how  far  you  may  have  been 
concerned  in  bringing  this  about.  I  won't 
say  any  more.  And  you  will  do  me  the  justice 
to  remark  that  I  have  said  nothing  throughout 
unless  you  have  invited  me." 

He  softened  at  once,  and  became  more 
human.  "I  know,  I  know.  You  have  been 
very  good  about  it.  You  were  in  it  from  the 
beginning,  and  have  had  every  reason  to 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  155 

take  an  interest.  And  you  are  the  best  friend 
I  have.  I  know  that  very  well.  But  this  is 
how  I  feel  about  it.  I  hope  you'll  under- 
stand me.  You  and  I  aren't  in  agreement — 
as  to  the  rudiments,  I  mean.  We  differ  in 
first  principles.  Therefore,  if  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  upon  my  course  of  conduct, 
I've  made  it  up,  you  see,  on  premises  which 
you  dispute.  So  there's  no  common  ground 
for  us.  I  say  this  so  that  you  may  leave 
off  being  offended  with  me.  I  must  do  what 
I  think  right.  That,  at  least,  you  will  agree 


to." 


Naturally,  I  agreed  to  it,  and  most  certainly 
I  didn't  want  to  dig  up  the  whole  thing  from 
the  foundations  and  discuss  the  ground  plan. 
Bmt  I  thought  I  might  as  well  find  out  exactly 
what  he  thought  was  going  to  happen — and 
asked  him  plainly,  Did  he  suppose  Pierpoint 
and  she  had  come  to  an  understanding? 

He  said  that  he  did  suppose  so,  though 
he  knew  nothing.  "I  haven't  spoken  to 
Pierpoint — indeed,  I  haven't  seen  him  since 
he  left  us  to  go  to  Dunmally." 

"Then  you  infer  it  from  his  chucking  the 
service?" 


156  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  nodded  to  that. 

"Then,"  I  said,  "you  must  also  suppose 
that  he  and  she  are  going  to  do  a  bolt." 

He  said,  "I  do  suppose  so." 

I  must  say  he  took  it  cooly  for  a  lover. 
But  you  never  know  with  these  emotional 
men  what  they  are  doing  beneath  their 
externals.  I  made  one  more  effort. 

"It  is  easy  to  see,"  I  said,  "that  if  you 
were  with  him  you  could  prevent  that." 

He  still  stared  at  the  fire. 

"Why  should  I  prevent  it?"  he  said. 
"She  wouldn't  come  with  me." 

"I  hope  you  wouldn't  ask  her  to,"  I  said; 
"in  fact,  I  am  sure  you  wouldn't." 

He  looked  quickly  at  me.  "Oh,  but  you 
are  wrong.  I  should  decidedly  ask  her  if 
I  thought  that  she  cared  about  me.  But  she 
doesn't — not  in  that  sort  of  way." 

"That  being  so,  my  dear  Hector,"  I  said, 
"she  had  much  better  stay  where  she  is 
That  seems  to  me  self-evident.  I  don't  see 
how  the  most  extreme  idealist  could  wish  a 
woman  to  be  carried  off  by  a  man  four  years 
younger  than  she  is,  still  less  when  that  man 
is  your  brother  Pierpoint,  of  whose  conduct 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  157 

and  conversation  you  are  a  better  judge  than 
I  am." 

"Anything,"  said  Hector,  "is  better  for 
her  than  remaining  with  that  dying  Priapus, 
who  only  lives  so  long  as  she  has  any  vitality 
in  her." 

There  was  a  dreadful  certainty  about  him 
which  baffled  my  speech.  I  was  prepared 
for  a  high  line,  but  not  for  such  lengths  of 
fanaticism. 

It  was  difficult  to  argue  with  a  man  like 
that;  and  of  course  he  knew  more  about 
Helena  than  I  did.  To  anybody  but  Hector 
I  should  have  said  that  she  had  plenty  of 
ways  of  protecting  herself.  She  wasn't  a 
girl,  she  wasn't  a  fool.  She  might  refuse  to 
live  with  him — anything  in  the  world  would 
be  better  than  what  he  contemplated  for  her 
with  such  gloomy  complacency,  if  I  may  say 
that. 

But  I  didn't  feel  that  I  could  go  on  with 
that  sort  of  wrangle.  It  always  made  me 
angry  to  be  stone-walled.  So  I  said — what 
I  was  far  from  believing — that  it  was  by  no 
means  certain  that  she  would  be  persuaded 
by  Pierpoint.  She  was  a  Catholic,  she  was 


158  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

a  mother,  she  seemed  a  God-fearing,  or  at 
least  a  world-fearing,  woman.  I  said  that 
she  struck  me  as  a  cold  nature.  Heaven  help 
me!  Suppose  he  had  known  what  Miss 
Bacchus  knew,  for  instance. 

Perhaps  he  did,  for  he  stopped  me,  saying, 
"You  are  wrong.  She  has  not  a  cold  tem- 
perament. She  is  enthusiastic,  and  quickly 
moved."  Then  he  said  quickly  and  fervently, 
with  a  break  now  and  then  in  his  voice,  "I 
love  her  with  all  my  soul.  She  is  my  ideal 
of  what  a  woman  should  be — ardent,  devoted, 
yielding,  gentle,  and  kind.  She  could  not 
do  an  unkind  thing;  but  if  she  were  deeply 
moved  she  could  do  any  daring  thing.  I 
would  gladly  have  braved  the  hard  eyes  of 
the  world,  the  shooting  tongues,  the  cruel, 
pointing  fingers — to  serve  her!  But  I  have 
never  spoken  to  her  of  my  hope.  Now — if  she 
is  so  blessed  as  to  have  a  heart  full  of  love — 
if  she  is  so  blessed — let  her  go  with  him  in 
God's  name.  It  will  give  me  a  right  to  stand 
by  her.  She  will  be  my  sister,  and  shall  have 
a  brother's  love  from  me.  If  one  no  else  will 
save  her  from  her  captor  I  will." 

"Save  her,  by  all  means,"  I  said.    "But 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  159 

you  will  have  to  save  her  from  Pierpoint  by 
and  by." 

"I  know  that,"  he  said.  "Pierpoint  will 
want  to  be  off." 

"You  are  allowing  her  to  get  into  an  in- 
tolerable position,"  I  told  him.  "You  don't 
know  what  you  are  doing." 

He  said,  "She  is  in  an  intolerable  position 
already.  There  is  no  other  way  of  saving 
her." 

I  said,  "Hector,  I  urge  you  to  go  out  there 
— either  at  once  or  when  he  goes." 

He  showed  me  cavernous  eyes — cavernous 
eyes  with  despair  in  the  depths  of  them. 
"I  can't  go — I  can't  go,"  he  said.  "I  .love 
her  too  much.  It  would  tear  my  heart  to 
pieces." 

We  talked  on,  I  suppose,  half  the  night; 
but  it  was  only  a  going  over  the  ground  again. 
Once  more  at  least  I  brought  him  up  to  the 
point  where  it  seemed  a  matter  of  that  or 
nothing.  Once  more,  when  fairly  up  against 
it,  he  broke  back  and  said  that  he  couldn't. 
No  man  wants  to  see  the  woman  he  loves 
elope  with  another  man;  no  man  wants  to 
lay  himself  open  to  such  a  taunt  as  Pierpoint 


i6o  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

baulked  might  have  against  him.  Pierpoint 
might  say,  You  profess  to  love  this  woman; 
you  know  that  she  loves  me.  Yet  you  leave 
her  with  a  man  abhorrent,  whom  you  have 
taught  her  to  abhor;  you  are  content  to  do 
that  sooner  than  see  her  happy  with  anybody 
but  yourself.  Pierpoint  might  say  that. 
Hector  may  have  felt  its  force.  My  belief 
is  that  Hector  had  taught  himself  to  want 
her  to  elope.  He  had  made  a  monster  out 
of  the  Baron.  As  for  himself,  I  don't  think 
he  thought  of  himself.  That's  where  he  was 
so  inhuman. 

The  rest  of  his  conversation  with  me  during 
the  few  days  he  was  at  my  place  may  be 
summarized  thus:  he  had  no  conversation 
with  me.  It  is  literally  true.  The  morning 
after  that  which  I  have  recorded  he  was  very 
silent.  When  I  came  back  in  the  evening 
he  had  recovered  somewhat.  We  dined  at 
the  club,  looked  in  at  a  theatre,  chatted 
desultorily,  and  went  to  bed.  Next  day  he 
was  out  to  dinner  somewhere.  The  day  after 
that  he  went  away,  having  received  a  tele- 
gram. I  believe  it  was  from  Pierpoint;  but 
he  didn't  tell  me.  He  went  away  without  a 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  161 

word  to  me  about  Helena.    I  couldn't  say  any- 
thing, or  do  anything.    He  didn't  mean  me  to. 

Having  done  my  little  best  and  been 
snubbed  for  it,  I  washed  my  hands  of  poor 
old  Hector's  family  affairs,  and  now  felt  at 
liberty  to  go  out  into  the  world.  The  world, 
as  I  might  have  known,  if  I  hadn't  been  so 
self-conscious,  persisted  in  rolling  on.  Pretty 
women  still  went  to  the  tea-shop  of  the 
moment  with  very  young  or  very  old  gentle- 
men in  attendance;  Parliament  still  talked 
about  Home  Rule;  the  National  Review  still 
asked  us  to  take  its  word  for  it  that  Ministers 
were  common  pickpockets,  and  still  we  didn't. 
Christmas  came  round,  and  we  all  went 
away.  There  were  two  days'  skating  and 
thirty  days  of  rain.  At  the  end  of  January, 
just  as  I  was  saying  to  myself  that  in  two 
months  more  I  might  get  down  into  Provence, 
with  the  wind,  I  met  Miss  Bacchus  at  a  party 
and  took  her  down  to  dinner.  On  the  stairs 
she  said  to  me,  "I  suppose  you  know  all 
about  it." 

I  did,  then.     "Do  you  mean  the  best  or 

the  worst?"  I  said, 
ii 


162  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Oh,"  said  she,  "it  all  depends.  I  believe 
Hector  thinks  it's  capital." 

"Then,"  I  said,  "he's  done  it." 

"Who  has  done  what?"  she  said,  evidently 
not  sure  whether  I  knew  anything  or  not. 

"Why,  Apollo,"  I  said.  She  was  satisfied. 
''I'll  tell  you  presently,"  she  concluded — 
and  then  we  were  at  table. 

"All  I  know  is,"  she  said,  "that  Pierpoint 
has  written  to  his  father.  I  know  that  from 
Elspeth  Muir,  who  was  there  when  the  letter 
came.  She  said  the  old  man  nearly  had  a 
fit." 

I  stopped  her  there.  "Look  here,"  I 
said,  "do  let  us  have  one  thing  clear  first. 
What  did  Pierpoint  say  in  his  letter?" 

She  didn't  know.    Of  course  she  didn't. 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "Then  what  did  the 
chief  say  in  his  fit?" 

Again  she  didn't  know.  It  was  all  a  wild 
surmise.  "The  Marks  were  in  the  house. 
Hector  was  sent  for.  He's  up  there  now. 
They  sent  all  the  outsiders  away.  I  saw 
Lord  Mark  on  Sunday." 

"And  what  did  Lord  Mark  tell  you?" 
I  wanted  to  know. 


THE  FIRMNESS  OF  HECTOR  163 

"Well,  he  said  that  Pierpoint  was  going 
to  take  her  away." 

I  told  her  that  I  didn't  believe  it;  but  in 
my  heart's  core,  knowing  Pierpoint,  I  shivered. 
"At  any  rate,"  I  added,  "if  Pierpoint  was 
going  to  run  away  with  her,  he'd  hardly  tell 
his  father  about  it — would  he?" 

She  allowed  that;  but  she  thought  that, 
without  letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  himself, 
he  might  have  left  the  key  about. 

"Does  Hector  know — or  suspect?"  I  asked 
her. 

"They  all  know  what  there  is  to  know," 
she  replied.  "It's  a  bad  look-out  for  fair 
Helena." 

I  said,  "She  ought  to  have  known  better. 
Upon  my  word — a  woman  of  her  age." 

"If  she  had  been  his  age,"  said  Miss 
Bacchus  very  acutely,  "she  would  have  known 
better." 


XII 
HELENA  FLIES 

IN  that  parlous  condition  I  had  to  leave  my 
friend's  affairs — his  heart  seething  and  bob- 
bing, as  it  were,  like  a  pippin  in  a  brew. 
Although  I  cursed  Hector  for  a  besotted 
idealist  who  didn't  think  people  went  to  the 
devil  so  long  as  they  went  his  way  there — - 
I  didn't  feel  that  I  could  write  and  tell  him  so, 
satisfaction  as  that  would  have  been  to  myself. 
I  was  so  angry  with  him  that  I  didn't  remem- 
ber how  often  I  had  been  angry  with  him 
before — nor  even  what  superhuman  luck  he 
had  had  more  than  once  before.  There  things 
had  to  remain,  and  there  I  left  them,  subject 
to  occasional  stabs  of  consciousness  when  I 
realised  that,  at  the  hour  it  was,  Helena 
might  be  a  runaway  wife,  already  rueing  the 
bad  exchange  she  had  made. 

Then — some  time  in  March,  as  I  suppose — 

Wynyard   came  to  see  me,   appearing  as   if 

shot  out  of  the  blue  sky — Wynyard  the  lean 

and  grim  and  red,  Wynyard  the  parody  of 

164 


HELENA  FLIES  165 

Pierpoint,  astonishing  by  his  likeness  and 
unlikeness  to  his  twin.  Wynyard  himself 
stalked  into  my  rooms  when  I  was  at  break- 
fast, nodded  a  curt  good  morning  and  asked, 
or  looked,  for  food. 

He  had  it,  and  consumed  it  in  silence,  or 
nearly  in  silence.  All  his  comment  was  upon 
its  excellence.  "Awfully  good  bacon.  There's 
a  thing  you  simply  don't  see  abroad.  As  for 
their  coffee — muck."  So  he  had  been  abroad! 
That  was  rare  for  him.  But  I  knew  him,  and 
left  him  alone. 

When  he  had  really  done,  and  had  lighted 
his  pipe,  he  gave  me  a  shock.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "I  thought  you'd  be  interested  to  know 
....  I've  cooked  his  goose  for  him." 

"Whose  goose,  my  dear  chap?"  I  asked, 
though  I  guessed. 

He  said,  "My  beautiful  brother's.  He  was 
going  off  with  her.  On  the  very  brink." 

"Well?" 

"Weil,"  said  Wynyard,  with  narrowed  eyes, 
"he  won't." 

"Oh,"  I  said.     "Are  you  sure?" 

"I'm  as  sure,"  he  said,  "as  that  I've  had 
breakfast." 


i66  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  jumped  to  the  thought  of  fair  Helena. 
"And  what  does  she  think  about  it?  How 
did  she  cool  off?  Because  you  have  to  blow 
pretty  hot  to  get  such  a  tone  in  the  air  as  the 
elopement  tone.  .  .  ." 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  Wynyard  said,  "what 
she  thinks  about  it,  because  I  don't  know. 
But  I  do  know  that  Pierpoint  is  in  Pans, 
while  she,  I  believe,  is  in  Bucharest,  or  some 
such  place,  with  a  Princess  Glinka,  a  fat 
woman  who  wants  washing." 

There  was  really  nothing  to  say.  If  you 
were  to  see  a  miracle  there  would  be  nothing 
to  say.  That  is  the  test  of  a  miracle. 

What  I  did  say  shows  how  little  there  was 
to  say.  It  was  feeble,  but  it  served. 

"How  do  you  know,"  I  said,  "that  she 
wants  washing?" 

"Because  I've  seen  her,"  he  replied.  "She 
was  about — very  much  about.  A  great  friend 
of  Helena's,  and  a  good  sort.  A  fat  Rou- 
manian who  lives  about,  mostly  smoking.  I 
had  a  talk  with  her.  I  told  her  she  must  stop 
it.  I  said  it  was  out  of  the  question.  She 
lifted  her  fat  hands  and  made  tragic  eyes — 
at  the  ceiling,  not  at  me.  When  she  said, 


HELENA  FLIES  167 

'It  is  never  out  of  the  question  for  women 
to  fall  in  love,'  I  said,  'It  is  in  this  case.' 
And  I  made  her  see  it." 

"Good  Lord!"  That  was  all  there  was  to 
say.  Then  I  asked  him  how  Pierpoint  took  it. 

"Oh,  Pierpoint  didn't  like  it  at  all.  I  rather 
shook  Pierpoint.  But  there  was  nothing  to 
say.  He's  in  Paris.  I  daresay  he'll  go  after 
her  again  after  a  bit.  But  Glinka  will  let 
me  know." 

"Why  did  Glinka,  as  you  call  her,  propose 
to  allow  Helena  to  go  at  all?"  That  was 
my  next. 

Wynyard  told  me,  "Because  Helena  would 
have  gone  without  leave  if  she  hadn't  got  it. 
She  was  mad  to  go.  She'd  have  gone  with 
Pierpoint  sooner  than  not  go." 

So  she  had  gone,  then?  Wynyard  said,  of 
course  she  had  gone.  With  GUnka,  and  for 
the  moment  to  Bucharest.  She  had  made  up 
her  mind,  he  said,  to  go  before  she  left  Inver- 
oran  last  year.  I  wondered. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she ?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  don't.  She  didn't  tell 
me.  But  I  knew  it." 

This  cold-eyed,  hot-faced  child  of  nature  saw 


168  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

more  than  one  gave  him  credit  for.  But  he 
was  always  a  shrouded  creature.  He  had  the 
gift  of  silence. 

"Did  you  say  anything  at  all  to  Helena? 
Did  you  talk  to  her?" 

He  stared.  "Of  course  I  talked  to  her. 
She  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her — at  Bucha- 
rest. She  took  me  to  the  convent  to  see  her 
daughter.  A  nice  child." 

"And  has  she  run  away  with  Hermione, 
too?" 

"No.  Hermione  stays  where  she  is.  She's 
all  right  there." 

I  asked  him,  "How  did  she  take  Pierpoint's 
defection,  Wynyard?  And  what  on  earth 
could  he  have  said  to  her?" 

Wynyard  shrugged. 

"God  knows  what  he  said.  That  wasn't  my 
business.  As  for  her,  she  never  mentioned 
his  name  once.  He  might  not  have  existed." 

I  understood  that.  She  was  a  proud  woman, 
and  would  sooner  have  died.  But  would  she 
ever  forgive  him? 

I  turned  to  other  points. 

"What  will  the  Baron  do?  Has  she  told 
him,  do  you  know?" 


HELENA  FLIES  169 

"  She  wrote  to  the  Baron  before  she  left." 

"What  will  he  do?" 

Wynyard  considered.  "I  think  he'll  get 
her  back.  The  Baron's  a  man,  or  the  remains 
of  one.  Personally,  I  like  him." 

"  So  do  I,"  I  said.  Then  I  asked  more  about 
Pierpoint.  He  said  that  he  didn't  expect 
Pierpoint  home  for  a  bit.  Pierpoint  had 
thrown  up  his  job,  and  as  he  had  done  it  for 
nothing  it  was  unlikely  he  would  come  home 
to  explain  it  away.  His  belief  was  that  Pier- 
point  would  go  after  Helena. 

"And  if  he  does?"  I  asked.  My  own 
belief  was  that  if  he  did,  she  would  know  how 
to  deal  with  him;  but  Wynyard  apparently 
thought  it  possible  that  she  would  not. 

"If  he  does,"  said  Wynyard,  "I  suppose 
that  I  shall  go  after  Pierpoint." 

"There'll  be  bloodshed,"  I  told  him. 

"No,  there  won't,"  said  Wynyard. 

He  went  North  that  night,  to  console  his 
father.  I  took  the  trouble  to  spread  the  good 
news  about  London.  I  told  Miss  Bacchus, 
who  sniffed;  I  told  Lord  Mark,  who  snorted. 
"Wynyard's  in  love  with  her  himself.  They 


170  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

all  are.    The  chief's  in  love  with  her.     So  are 
you.     I  call  it  rot." 

I  said,  "I  admit  it.  She's  divinely  pretty, 
and  as  soft  as  a  bird's  breast." 

"Bah,"  said  Lord  Mark.  "Give  me  a 
leathery  woman."  Somebody  had. 

The  erring  pair — I  mean,  of  course,  the 
Glinka  and  the  fair  runaway — went  first  to 
Castellammare,  thence  to  Sicily,  then  to  Corfu; 
from  each  of  which  sanctuaries  in  turn  they 
were  routed  by  German  hordes  whom  Helena, 
poor  girl,  either  knew  or  thought  she  knew,  or 
suspected  of  knowledge.  I  can  well  imagine 
that  the  woods  may  have  been  full  of  eyes, 
that  the  Baron,  so  to  speak, 

Formosam  resonare  docuit  Amaryllida  silvas 
— if  I  may  make  Virgil  limp  after  me.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with;  nor  could  I 
judge  him  a  man  to  let  trifles  of  delicacy  stand 
in  his  way. 

Whether  he  pursued  or  not,  they  at  any 
rate  fled,  believing  in  pursuit.  And  the 
Glinka  was  not  made  for  a  beast  of  chase. 
Although  she  was  timorous,  she  was  fat  and 
loved  her  ease.  She  must  have  been  very 
cross,  and  I  can  imagine  that  there  may  have 


HELENA  FLIES  171 

been  times  when  Helena  almost  regretted  her 
servitude  to  her  Baron's  whim.  I  don't  know 
the  details  of  their  flight,  or  by  what  stages 
they  reached  Tripolitza  in  Arcadia.  They 
were  there  by  the  middle  of  June;  and  then 
they  moved  on  to  Sparta,  or  rather  to  Mistra, 
which  is  a  romantic  shell  of  a  mediaeval 
fortress-town  upon  the  slopes  of  Taygetus. 
They  were  found  there  by  Hector,  who  went 
out  to  visit  them  in  October,  and  came  back 
to  London  full  of  content  with  what  he  had 
seen  and  been  told. 

He  said  that  they  were  installed  in  a  con- 
vent, which  was  shared  also  by  the  priest  and 
his  family.  A  very  domestic  couple,  he  re- 
ported them:  the  Princess,  black-browed, 
heavy,  dusty,  a  smoker  of  cigarettes  and 
eater  of  oranges;  very  fond  of  Helena,  petting 
her  more  than  she  scolded,  though  she  did  that 
too.  She  had  a  tragic  air,  a  deep  bass  voice, 
and  was  not  beardless.  Helena,  he  said,  was 
softly  beautiful  and  learning  Greek  from  the 
priest,  a  mild-eyed,  melancholy  lotus-eater 
whose  ways  were  soothing  to  her.  Pierpoint 
— she  had  admitted  the  renegade! — had  been 
with  them  in  Athens,  but  Hector  gave  me 


172  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

to  understand  that  Athens  was  made  impos- 
sible for  him — and  that  his  hostesses  left 
in  a  hurry.  The  Glinka,  who  hated  Pier- 
point,  feared  the  Baron  as  much  as  cold 
water,  or  any  water.  It  was  she  who  in- 
sisted on  bundling  off,  though  she  was  the  last 
person  in  the  world  to  bundle.  Not  that  the 
Baron  had  been  there — no,  but  he  had  been 
heard  of.  He  had  certainly  been  in  Greece 
and  had  left  spies  behind  him.  They  were 
persons,  Hector  said,  whom  Helena  knew. 
They  did  not  speak  to  her,  they  did  not  even 
seem  to  be  aware  of  her;  but  they  haunted 
her.  She  sent  Pierpoint  away — but  to  no 
purpose.  It  became  a  silent  persecution  and 
gave  her  a  bad  attack  of  nerves.  She  limbered 
up  her  Glinka — or  was  limbered  up  herself — 
and  moved  by  night,  first  to  Patras,  then  to 
Tripolitza  by  carnage — heavy  work  for  a 
sultry  Roumanian  princess  who  did  not  as 
a  rule  put  on  her  clothes  till  four  in  the  after- 
noon. But  the  peace  and  solitude  of  the 
mountain  stronghold  revived  her  wonderfully, 
and  Hector  believed  that  if  the  supply  of 
French  novels  held  out  the  Glinka  would  be 
content  to  remain  through  the  winter.  After 


HELENA  FLIES  173 

that   he   didn't   know  what   would   happen. 

He  was  on  his  way  North,  when  he  told  me 
all  this — to  see  his  father  and  reassure  him 
about  Pierpoint.  He  himself  seemed  quite  at 
ease.  His  heart  was  fixed,  he  said.  His  lady 
was  free,  knew  that  she  was  loved,  accepted 
his  devotion,  and  relied  upon  it.  He  was  to 
hold  himself  ready  to  go  to  her  at  a  moment's 
warning.  I  never  met  a  lover  of  his  sort 
before — a  vicarious  lover,  a  kind  of  carpet 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac.  His  ideas  of  romantic 
enchantment  were  too  bleak  for  me. 

"You  think  she  is  happy?"  I  asked  him, 
and  he  replied  at  once  that  he  did. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  "she  regrets  the 
child.  She  has  news  of  her  from  a  friend 
whom  she  can  trust.  But,  unfortunately — I 
rather  gather  this — she  gets  news  about  von 
Broderode  too.  That's  a  great  bore — but  it 
can't  be  helped." 

"She  has  heard  nothing  from  the  Baron 
directly?" 

He  shook  his  head.     "Not  a  word." 

"She  has  written  to  him?" 

"  She  wrote  when  she  left  him.  She  hasn't 
written  since." 


174  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"You  have  no  idea  what  he  is  doing?" 

"Not  the  least,  beyond  what  I  have  told 
you.  I  feel  sure  that  he  is  not  sitting  still." 

So  did  I. 

He  changed  the  subject  of  his  own  accord 
by  saying  that  it  was  beautiful  to  see  her  so 
happy.  "You  would  hardly  know  her  again," 
he  told  me.  "There  is  a  light  upon  her  which 
you  never  saw  there — a  saliency  in  her  motions 
which  is  enchanting.  And  she  has  had  a 
wonderful  effect  upon  Pierpoint.  He  adores 
her,  and  gives  no  trouble  at  all.  He's  never 
been  serious  before:  he's  serious  now.  I 
don't  believe  that  he  has  a  care  in  the  world." 

It  was  quite  obvious  to  me  now  that  my 
poor  Hector  had  no  notion  of  Wynyard's 
share  in  the  game,  and  put  down  Pierpoint's 
withdrawal  to  innate  virtue.  Well,  I  let  it 
go  at  that.  But  Helena's  forgiveness  of  him 
could  only  be  put  down  to  one  of  two  things : 
either  she  was  excessively  enamoured  or  he 
had  lied  enormously  about  his  reasons. 

I  said  that  it  seemed  to  me  a  great  pity 
that  Pierpoint  should  have  been  there  at  all, 
considering  what  he  had  proposed.  Hector 
held  his  head  very  high,  said  that  to  suspect 


HELENA  FLIES  175 

her  was  to  condemn  myself;  that  Pierpoint 
had  been  there  because  he  loved  her — "just  as 
I  was  myself,"  he  added,  with  a  fatuity  only 
possible  to  an  idealist,  and  a  Hector  Malleson. 
He  was  quite  sui  generis  in  that  kind  of  saying. 
He  added  afterwards  that  Helena  was  taking 
her  responsibilities  very  seriously. 

I  said,  "That's  an  odd  way  of  showing 
seriousness."  But  Hector  said,  not  at  all. 
"Pierpoint  has  no  cares,  because  nothing  is 
difficult  for  him.  She  has  called  out  his  latent 
ability.  She  has  made  him  ambitious.  I 
am  prepared  to  think  rather  highly  of  him." 

I  said,  "  He's  not  been  tried  yet.  You  should 
wait  till  the  Baron  puts  the  screw  on."  Then 
I  noticed  that  Hector  was  prepared  to  make 
a  family  matter  of  it. 

"We  shall  be  ready  for  him  if  he  does  any- 
thing offensive,"  said  my  remarkable  friend. 
"At  present  I  don't  see  what  he  can  do." 

I  pointed  out  one  thing  immediately,  which 
was  that  the  Baron,  having  made  Athens  too 
hot  for  Pierpoint,  might  make  Sparta  too 
cold  for  his  wife — by  practically  keeping  her 
there,  alone  with  a  bored  Roumanian  lady  of 
unsociable  habits.  I  didn't  know  it,  but  I 


176  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

was  prophesying.  Hector  was  wired  for  while 
he  was  at  Inveroran — while  I  was  there  too. 
He  showed  me  the  telegram,  which  simply 
said — according  to  a  code  which  they  had 
arranged  beforehand — "Leaguer" — and  off  he 
went. 

After  a  fortnight  we  heard  from  him — or 
from  them,  rather.  I  had  a  letter  from  Hector, 
which  said,  "The  Baron  is  at  the  hotel  at 
Sparta.  She  was  sketching  in  Mistra  when 
he  was  carried  up  the  street  in  a  kind  of 
swinging  chair — with  a  guide  to  point  him 
out  the  objects  of  interest.  She,  poor  child, 
sat  frozen  in  her  place,  not  daring  to  look  at 
him.  He  took  his  hat  off,  and  was  carried 
on.  Since  that  time  he  has  installed  himself 
at  Sparta,  within  easy  distance  of  her.  He 
has  Teresa  Visconti,  his  attendant,  with  him, 
a  doctor,  and  a  succession  of  friends.  She 
cannot  stop  here,  and  the  Princess  will  not. 
What  to  do  I  don't  know  at  present.  She 
has  written  to  my  father,  with  my  full 
approval.  If  he  speaks  about  it,  I  rely  upon 
your  friendship."  That  was  all. 

Well,  she  had  indeed  written  to  Sir  Roderick. 
She  had,  it  is  simpler  to  say  at  once,  cast  her- 


HELENA  FLIES  177 

self  into  his  bosom.  That,  whether  a  ruse  or 
an  artless  rush  for  safety,  was  the  way  to  do 
it.  I  never  saw  the  old  man  so  moved  by 
anything.  He  called  us  together — those  of 
us  who  were  his  familiars.  We  held  a  council 
of  war.  He  said  that  a  beautiful  and  perse- 
cuted lady  had  appealed  to  him  for  protection. 
She  and  her  husband  had  both  been  his  guests, 
and  could  claim  equal  rights  from  him.  It 
was  no  part  of  his  business  (he  meant  our 
business)  to  judge  between  a  husband  and 
wife.  We  might  have  our  prejudices,  they 
might  or  might  not  be  reasonable,  or  even 
honourable.  The  thing  was  done:  the  lady 
had  left  him.  He,  with  no  legal  right  to 
support  him,  not  asserting  any  such  right, 
chose  to  obtrude  himself  upon  her,  to  beset 
her.  The  lady,  not  knowing  where  to  turn, 
had  written  to  him  a  noble,  touching,  affecting 
letter,  he  said — he  had  it  in  his  hand,  tried 
to  read  extracts  from  it,  and  broke  down — 
which  no  man  of  honour  or  common  charity 
could  receive  and  not  be  affected  by.  He 
said  that  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do — 
namely,  to  offer  her  instant  and  unconditional 
asylum.  Inveroran,  himself,  his  sons,  his 

12 


178  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

friends  were  at  her  service.  He  had  not  called 
us  to  advise  him;  he  knew  us  too  well  to 
doubt  what  our  advice  would  be;  we,  he 
believed,  knew  him  too  well  to  suppose  him 
in  need  of  it.  Hector  would  escort  her.  He 
had  telegraphed  to  Hector  to  that  effect.  He 
ended  up  by  saying  that  he  was  a  proud  man 
that  day.  And  he  looked  it. 

We  weren't  a  very  big  party  that  year. 
The  chief's  audience  consisted  of  Lord  Mark, 
Wynyard,  Patrick,  and  myself.  The  first 
named  was  the  only  one  who  said  anything. 
Wynyard  squared  his  jaw,  Patrick  shuffled 
his  feet  about  and  had  his  cheeks  buried  in 
his  hands.  But  Lord  Mark  said,  that  was 
all  right — very  right  and  proper;  but  what 
were  we  going  to  do  about  the  neighbourhood? 
People  would  talk,  he  said;  and  they  didn't 
like  runaway  wives  in  Scotland.  The  old 
chief  glared  at  him  and  asked  him  what  he 
meant.  He  wasn't  at  all  dismayed.  He  said 
he  meant  exactly  what  he  said.  They  didn't 
like  wives  who  ran  away.  There  were  the 
Larberts  at  Dunmally,  for  instance.  Well, 
they  know  everyone.  One  of  the  sons  was  in 
the  Ottoman  Bank  at  Constantinople,  for 


HELENA  FLIES  179 

instance.  Now,  suppose  old  Broderode  came 
across  him?  Well,  the  first  thing  that  would 
happen  would  be  that  the  Dunmally  people 
would  come  over  here  with  old  Broderode's 
story  at  their  fingers'  ends.  The  second 
thing  might  be  that  old  Broderode  would  be 
asked  to  stay  with  them.  We  remembered 
what  went  on  at  the  ball  up  here!  The 
Marchioness  was  all  for  the  Baron,  and  didn't 
care  a  bit  for  Helena's  goings  on.  Well, 
what  about  that?  So  said  Lord  Mark  in  his 
tone  of  querulous  commonsense;  and  it  was 
not  much  help  that  Sir  Roderick  fumed  and 
glared  at  him.  Wynyard  took  him  as  well  as 
it  could  be  done,  I  believe.  He  said,  "Very 
well.  Let  them  have  him.  He  won't  come 
here,  and  that's  all  she  cares  about."  Mark 
said  there'd  be  a  beastly  scandal — and  Sir 
Roderick  jumped  down  his  throat.  A  scandal 
at  Inveroran — raised  by  the  Larberts — in  Mal- 
leson  country!  Did  Mark  know  what  he  was 
saying?  Mark,  who  did,  perfectly  well,  sub- 
sided into  sniffs  and  grunts,  and  the  storm 
died  down;  but  afterwards  he  told  me  what 
of  course  was  in  his  mind.  Pierpoint  was 
involved  in  this.  Pierpoint  had  done  his  best 


i8o  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

to  elope  with  Helena.  The  Baron  knew  all 
about  that — trust  him.  Well,  then,  if  the 
Larberts  got  to  know  that,  and  then  found 
Pierpoint  lodged  in  the  house — with  Helena 
— well,  said  Mark,  there'd  be  the  deuce's  own 
fuss,  and  he  didn't  mind  telling  me  that  Lady 
Mark  wouldn't  stand  it.  She  was  an  Ameri- 
can. "They  call  her  stodgy,"  he  said,  "and 
she  may  be  stodgy — but  she  won't  stand  any 
hanky-panky  with  the  Seventh  Command- 
ment; and  my  position  here  will  be  devilish 
awkward.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  if 
that  woman  comes  here.  My  wife'll  go  to 
America — that's  certain.  And  I  suppose  she'll 
stop  there,  because  she  won't  come  here  while 
the  woman's  in  the  house.  And  mark  you 
this" — he  slapped  the  palm  of  one  hand  with 
the  finger  of  the  other — "If  she  comes  here, 
she  comes  for  good.  That's  a  certainty." 

He  glared  at  me  through  his  monocle,  paus- 
ing for  the  reply  which  he  didn't  get.  "Very 
well,"  said  he,  "what  happens  then?  Why, 
you  practically  divorce  me  and  my  wife. 
That's  what  you  do.  And  that's  what  I  call 
chucking  stones  into  a  pond.  You  make  rings, 
you  know.  And  it's  my  pond,  I'll  trouble 


HELENA  FLIES  181 

you."    There  was  a  good  deal  in  what  he  said, 
though  it  wasn't  clearly  expressed. 

But  Lord  Mark  was  the  only  malcontent. 
As  for  the  rest  of  us,  it  seemed  that  the  chief 
was  on  our  minds  and  consciences,  and  we  in 
a  conspiracy  to  make  what  was  not  appear  as 
if  it  was.  I  believe  that  with  Helena's  letter 
he  took  Helena  herself  to  his  heart.  He 
talked  of  her  as  if  she  were  daughter  of  the 
house.  It  was  "When  that  child  comes,"  or 
even  "When  that  child  comes  back."  Back! 
Now  there  never  had  been  a  daughter  of  the 
house.  Not  only  had  his  wife  given  him  no 
girl,  but  no  Malleson  chieftainess  had  had  a 
daughter  for  several  generations.  It  was  odd, 
but  so  it  was.  The  legend  explained  it,  to  the 
Malleson  mind,  the  legend  of  Euphemia  Grant 
and  the  Malleson  curse — the  Malleson  mali- 
son, Pat  used  to  call  it.  Euphemia  had  been 
a  lady  who  loved  too  well.  Since  the  day 
of  her  expulsion  from  Inveroran,  it  was  said, 
there  had  never  been  a  daughter  to  the  house. 
So  there  was  cause  enough  for  Sir  Roderick 
to  take  this  willing  lady  to  his  bosom,  or 
(since  she  had  come  there  by  the  post)  to  keep 
her  in  it.  In  his  own  simple  transparent  way 


1 82  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

he  was  as  much  of  an  idealist  as  Hector. 
That  which  he  desired  to  be,  was.  And  so  we 
all  played  up. 

In  the  air — I  don't  know  how  to  describe  it, 
but  was  conscious  of  it  for  the  three  weeks  I 
put  in  at  Inveroran — there  was  a  kind  of 
suspense — a  kind  of  vibratory  feeling,  as  if 
the  whole  place  was  singing  with  preparation. 
It  was  exciting  enough.  Sandars  felt  it,  I 
know,  the  careworn  butler,  who  had  begun  as 
a  bootboy  when  Sir  Roderick  had  been  put 
into  his  first  kilt,  and  had  climbed  up  to  his 
present  place.  He  was  five  years  older  than 
his  master.  I  came  down  one  day  before 
anybody,  and  found  him  in  distressful  cir- 
cumstances. Ethel  Cook,  that  fine,  tall  house- 
maid, was  before  him,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her 
apron.  Sandars  had  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  could  not  do  it,  my  girl,  I  could  not " 

There  he  broke  off;  but  I  had  got  away. 

Another  time  I  saw  him  crossing  the  hall 
with  the  kettle  for  tea,  tiptoeing  in  his  usual 
circumspect  fashion.  And  yet  he  seemed  to 
be  labouring  like  a  ship  in  the  trough  of  a 
heavy  sea.  Then  I  saw  him  put  the  kettle 
down  and  cover  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  He 


HELENA  FLIES  183 

lifted  his  face  towards  the  ceiling,  and  kept  it 
so,  covered  still.  Then  he  shook  his  head 
slowly,  resumed  his  burden  and  went  on  his 
way.  I  knew  him  so  well  that  it  was  an 
impulse  hard  to  resist,  to  run  after  him  and 
ask  what  was  the  matter.  I  did  resist  it, 
however,  obeying  that  strange  instinct  of  all  of 
us  in  that  house  to  put  the  thing  away  from  us, 
and  for  the  chief's  sake  pretend  it  wasn't  there. 

I  renewed  acquaintance  with  Ethel  Cook  at 
the  servants'  ball;  but  she  seemed  to  have 
lead  in  her  toes,  and  stopped  after  a  couple  of 
turns.  We  were,  of  course,  pretty  old  friends. 
She  had  been  six  years  at  Inveroran.  I 
reminded  her  that  she  had  been  keener  on 
dancing  last  year,  and  she  admitted  it  with 
a  sigh.  She  said,  "Yes,  but  that  was  a  year 
ago.  A  deal  has  happened  since." 

I  said,  no  troubles  at  home,  I  hoped.  No, 
she  said,  they  were  all  well  at  home.  She 
hadn't  been  very  well.  I  said — a  change. 
But  she  seemed  to  think  that  impossible. 

"Oh,  no,  I  couldn't  go  now "  and  then 

she  stopped,  as  if  she  had  said  too  much.  An 
electric  condition  of  affairs — which  gets  on 
the  nerves  of  a  household. 


XIII 
ASYLUM 

NOTHING  happened  until  the  spring,  however. 
When  I  left  Inveroran  in  October  Hector  was 
expected  back  during  the  next  month.  He 
had  escorted  his  two  ladies  to  Paris,  taking 
Vienna  on  the  way,  where  Helena  had  paid 
a  hidden  visit  to  the  child  and  pushed  on. 
The  dusky  Princess  longed  for  the  rue  de  la 
Paix  and  wouldn't  stop  long.  Besides,  she 
was  terrified  of  the  Baron. 

When  they  reached  safety  in  Paris  Hector 
thought  it  his  duty  to  leave — and,  in  fact  did 
leave,  it  being  understood  that  Helena  should 
come  to  Inveroran  in  May.  He  didn't  men- 
tion Pierpoint  to  me  when  I  saw  him  on  his 
way  home;  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
the  amorist  was  in  Paris  too,  and  a  good  deal 
in  Helena's  company.  He  was  certainly  there 
in  the  spring  when  Hector  went  out  to  escort 
the  lady  northwards,  because  she  arrived, 
like  a  captive  Briseis,  between  the  pair  of 
them. 
184 


ASYLUM  185 

I  met  them  at  Charing  Cross  one  bright 
afternoon  in  early  May,  and  was  immediately 
struck  by  her  soft  and  rich  allure.  She  looked 
eight-and-twenty,  and  amazingly  pretty.  She 
had  more  colour;  her  eyes  were  brighter;  she 
was  more  vivacious.  Love  suited  her.  She 
was  like  the  burnished  dove  of  the  poem, 
having  a  livelier  iris.  I  thought  Pierpoint 
improved  by  his  moustache  and  beard.  He 
looked  more  like  his  wholesome  twin.  As  for 
Hector,  there  was  a  kind  of  'Bless  you,  my 
children!'  air  upon  him  which  gave  me  a  fit  of 
chuckling  whenever  I  looked  upon  his  beam- 
ing paternal  eyes.  Nothing  of  the  ousted 
pretendant  about  him.  Bless  you,  no!  You 
would  have  said  that  he  had  attained  the 
utmost  of  his  desire. 

I  was  not  alone  to  receive  them.  Miss 
Bacchus  was  there,  by  arrangement  it  seemed. 
"Yes,  I'm  an  accomplice,"  she  told  me.  "I 
don't  know  what  you're  all  going  to  do  with 
her  when  the  Baron  dies.  It  will  be  an 
unseemly  scramble,  I'm  thinking — like  the 
end  of  the  Austrian  Empire.  Personally,  I 
shall  back  the  best  man." 

"Who's    he?"    I     asked    her.      She    said 


186  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Well,  the  Baron  will  win — if  he  lives.  That's 
a  certainty." 

I  said  that  Inveroran  was  a  long  way  off 
his  beat.  She  nodded  her  head  many  times 
and  said  so  had  Sparta  been.  "These  foot- 
in-the-grave  people,"  she  said,  "live  from 
point  to  point.  You'll  see."  I  did  see;  but 
at  the  moment  I  didn't  believe  her. 

It  was  the  chief,  she  told  me,  who  had  urged 
her  to  be  hospitable  to  Helena,  in  a  long 
letter.  "He  don't  disguise  his  feelings,"  she 
said,  "and  has  no  need  to.  They  do  him 
great  credit.  Imagine  an  old  autocrat  of  his 
age  working  out  the  details  of  a  lady's  visit  to 
London!  He's  up  to  the  neck." 

"He  wants  a  daughter,"  I  said. 

She  said,  "Hum!" 

If  Helena  was  pleased  to  see  me — and  I 
believe  that  she  was — she  was  enormously 
relieved  to  see  the  old  gentlewoman.  It  saved 
her  from  the  odd  look  of  being  escorted  by 
three  men.  I  knew  a  girl  once — a  very  popular 
girl — who  was  escorted  home  from  a  dance  by 
forty  men;  but  that  was  in  Germany,  where 
people  are  enthusiastic. 

Helena  clasped  my  hand  warmly  and  said 


ASYLUM  187 

how  nice  it  all  was,  but  she  fairly  jumped 
at  Miss  Bacchus  and  hugged  her  to  her  heart. 
"Oh,  you  kind,  good  creature.  You  are  a 
true  friend!  How  could  I  ever  know  that  the 
English  were  so  kind?" 

I  asked  her,  Hadn't  Inveroran  taught  her 
anything  ?  She  went  on  hugging  Miss  Bacchus 
as  she  said,  Everything!  Everything!  It 
certainly  had  taught  her  a  thing  or  two,  as 
they  say. 

I  now  had  time  to  notice  how  triumphant 
Hector  showed  up.  As  I  said,  it  was  as  if  he 
had  achieved  the  ambition  of  a  lifetime.  In 
fact,  as  Miss  Bacchus  observed  to  me  after- 
wards, he  was  the  perfect  uncle,  for  not  only 
must  he  fuss  about  the  luggage  and  produce 
the  chit  for  the  Custom  House  out  of  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  but  there  sat  visibly  upon 
him  that  air  of  having  done  something,  pulled 
something  off  which  benevolent  uncles  always 
have.  Pierpoint  seemed  sheepish  beside  him 
— the  self-conscious  nephew — as  if  he  had 
been  found  out  in  an  enthusiasm  by  his 
school-fellows.  I  don't  know  how  far  he 
thought  us  all  ignorant  of  his  late  fiasco:  of 
course  he  saw  through  Hector.  Hector,  good 


i88  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

ass,  thought  he  had  been  called  back  at  the 
last  minute  by  his  nobler  nature.  Helena 
knew  what  he  had  told  her,  too.  But  what 
about  me?  What  about  Miss  Bacchus?  It 
was  on  our  score  that  he  poked  his  head,  I 
think,  and  looked  like  a  nagging  dog. 

Helena,  who  had  brought  no  maid  with  her, 
stayed  with  Miss  Bacchus;  and  the  lot  of  us 
dined  with  her  that  night.  The  old  virgin  had 
a  flat  in  Kensington — in  and  out  of  which, 
so  long  as  we  were  in  London,  Helena  lived 
and  moved.  Poor  girl,  she  never  seemed  at 
ease  without  the  old  friendly  soul.  She  by  no 
means  had  the  Mallesons  to  dine  every  night. 
Hector  saw  her  every  day;  but  Pierpoint 
seemed  very  detached.  He  went  to  the  races, 
and  paid  week-end  visits.  She  wouldn't  go 
anywhere  in  public  with  him — though  she  let 
me  take  her  to  the  Academy,  and  Hector  had 
her  to  himself  at  the  Zoo.  We  had  a  box  for 
Tristan  at  the  Opera,  and  all  went  to  that; 
but  she  was  so  much  upset  by  the  second  act 
that  she  had  to  go  out.  Miss  Bacchus  went 
with  her  and  left  the  three  of  us  plantes  Id. 
Hector  and  I  stayed  it  out.  Pierpoint  went 
off  to  the  Empire.  Helena  was  in  an  emotional 


ASYLUM  189 

state,  poor  dear,  always  hovering  between 
tears  of  shame  and  tears  of  pure  joy.  She 
could  rarely  trust  herself  to  speak  of  her 
reception  by  "the  family,"  as  she  called  us — 
when  she  didn't  lump  us  all  together  as  "the 
English."  Mrs.  Jack  Chevenix  came  to  call 
upon  her,  and  brought  with  her  a  quiet, 
beautiful  woman,  a  friend  of  hers,  a  Mrs. 
Senhouse.  Helena  was  deeply  gratified  by 
that.  She  admired  our  countrywomen;  she 
said  that  they  were  a  great  testimony  to  the 
voluntary  system.  On  the  same  grounds  she 
supported  the  army.  "They  stand  of  them- 
selves, your  women,"  she  said.  "They  choose 
to  do  what  we  are  forced  to  do.  I  think  it 
beautiful  to  see  their  proud  bent  heads.  They 
are  like  the  Caryatides  of  the  Erechtheum. 
Women  in  Germany  are  drudges.  And  as  for 
the  army — it  is  a  herd."  That  was  her  view, 
and  what  has  happened  since,  and  is  still 
happening,  shows  her  acumen. 

Then,  towards  the  last  week  in  May — with 
Miss  Bacchus  as  ballast — we  all  went  up  to 
Inveroran.  We  took  the  boat  from  Glasgow, 
ran  down  the  Clyde  in  fog  and  rain,  but  got 


190  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

into  beautiful  weather  as  we  neared  the  islands, 
and  opened  the  bay  upon  as  beautiful  a  morn- 
ing as  I  remember  to  have  seen.  The  air 
seemed  shot  with  blue  and  gold.  There  was 
the  sandy  shore  ahead  of  us,  backed  by  moun- 
tain and  cloud;  the  little  white  town;  the 
fishing-smacks  tossing  in  the  sparkling  water; 
there  was  the  castle,  with  the  flag  streaming 
out  in  the  breeze  of  the  upper  air.  A  perfect 
day. 

She  stood  on  the  foredeck  with  her  hand  on 
Hector's  arm.  A  long  motor  veil,  which  she 
had  twisted  up  in  her  hair,  flagged  out  like  a 
pennon.  She  had  been  up  with  the  light, 
waiting  for  this.  So  simple,  so  innocent,  so 
true — it  seemed  impossible  to  think  ill  of  her! 
And  I  know  that  I  didn't — and  yet — and  yet 
— I  felt  the  intolerable  pity  of  the  thought  that 
but  for  a  very  little  she  might  have  been  as 
happy  as  she  seemed.  Everything  was  right 
but  one  thing.  She  was  one  of  those  women 
who  simply  must  make  a  love-match.  And 
that  was  just  what  she  couldn't  do.  Well,  it 
was  no  good  thinking  of  it  then.  We  were 
practically  there:  the  thing  was  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 


ASYLUM  191 

I  made  out  the  old  chief  in  his  kilt,  with  his 
long  walking-staff,  from  half  a  mile  away.  He 
was  alone,  it  seemed — and,  thank  the  Lord, 
there  were  no  pipers  in  attendance  and  he  had 
come  down  in  the  motor  instead  of  the  state 
carriage. 

He  was  very  shaky,  very  agitated,  and  so, 
of  course,  was  she.  He  took  off  his  bonnet 
when  she  came,  and  kissed  her  hand  with 
great  formality.  She  wanted  to  refuse  it  but 
didn't.  He  shook  hands  with  Pierpoint, 
silently,  not  trusting  himself  with  words, 
then  with  the  rest  of  us.  Hector  went  off 
with  the  servant  to  look  after  luggage,  and 
told  us  not  to  wait  for  him.  We  all  got  into 
the  motor — Pierpoint  in  front,  the  two  ladies 
and  the  chief  on  the  back  seat.  I  was  vis-a-vis. 
Miss  Bacchus  and  I  did  the  chattering.  I 
saw  that  he  had  Helena's  hand  in  his  own- 
Passing  Rosemount,  the  empty  white  house 
with  its  blank  red  blinds,  I  had  a  momentary 
shiver,  remembering  the  Baron's  fierce  trans- 
ports of  a  year  and  a  half  ago.  But  I  felt  all 
right  directly  we  were  in  the  approach  road. 
We  passed  the  lodges  and  were  in  our  own 
domain.  Inveroran  has  a  huge  park:  a  belt 


192  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

of  forest  trees  runs  all  round,  just  inside  the 
wall,  and  then  comes  open  moorland  country 
— mostly  heather  and  silver  birch  thickets. 
The  deer  were  moving  about  in  the  distant 
hollows;  high  up  in  the  cloudless  sky  some 
big  hawk  was  soaring  like  an  aeroplane.  It 
all  seemed  very  primeval  and  stable;  Europe 
very  far  away. 

Sandars  and  his  satellites  awaited  us  on  the 
perron.  The  chief  got  out  after  me,  and  handed 
down  the  ladies.  Miss  Bacchus  bundled  up 
the  steps,  but  he  led  Helena  by  the  hand.  At 
the  door  he  let  her  go,  stood,  looked  at  her, 
and  then  held  out  his  arms.  She  faltered,  then 
stumbling  forward,  fell  into  them,  broke  into 
sobs,  and  then  fairly  into  a  passion  of  crying. 
He  soothed  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  and 
led  her  away.  It  was  a  most  touching  thing. 
The  fine  generous  old  chap !  My  eyes  were  wet 
over  that.  I  wished  Hector  had  been  there. 
Wynyard  saw  it,  and  turned  away.  Pierpoint 
had  gone  in  before  it  happened.  I  saw  that 
he  and  Wynyard  exchanged  no  greeting,  but 
don't  think  that  anyone  else  noticed  it. 


XIV 


WITHIN  a  week,  if  you'll  believe  me,  she  might 
have  been  there  from  the  cradle.  That  shows 
you  that  she  had  a  genius  for  being  snug.  I 
had  been  sure  of  it.  Within  ten  days  she  ran 
the  whole  house.  You  caught  yourself  saying, 
I  wonder  how  the  deuce  they  got  on  before 
she  was  here!  In  that  bachelor  house,  I  can 
tell  you,  the  difference  was  extraordinary — 
extraordinarily  pleasant  too.  We  all  revelled 
in  her. 

That  is  our  excuse  for  being  engaged,  as  I 
know  we  were,  in  a  highly  immoral  conspiracy 
to  make  a  thing  which  was  not  all  right  seem 
as  if  it  was.  We  were  harbouring  a  runaway 
wife  and  trying  to  ignore  the  fact  that  she  was 
a  married  woman.  She  was  "daughter  of  the 
house,"  if  you  please,  in  defiance  of  Euphemia 
Grant,  and  the  curse  of  the  Mallesons.  We 
were  engaged  in  buoying  up  a  bladder  of 
fiction,  which  might  break  into  thin  air  at  any 
moment,  or  by  any  exaggerated  breath.  But 
13  »93 


194  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

we  were  all  at  it,  led  by  Wynyard,  who  had 
been  so  put  off  by  it  at  first.  Wynyard  swiftly 
and  finally  fell  in  love  with  Helena.  He 
betrayed  himself  at  every  point,  after  his 
own  fashion.  He  became  her  shadow,  and 
said  less  than  ever.  It  seems  a  stupid  way 
of  making  love,  but  she  couldn't  have  enough 
love,  you  see,  and  she  read  the  nature  of  the 
man.  Pat  followed,  when  he  came  home. 
Thus  she  had  the  lot;  and  the  chief  was  the 
worst  of  them. 

Not  that  the  chief  made  love  to  her,  of 
course.  He  did  what  was  far  more  effective 
when  he  let  her  understand  from  the  first  that 
his  welfare  and  moral  standing  in  his  kingdom 
were  involved  in  her.  Every  act,  every  look, 
every  word  (and  with  him  word  stood  for 
thought)  implied  it.  It  was  a  subtle  form  of 
enchainment,  for  while  she  was  absolute 
mistress  of  her  own  head,  heart,  and  will,  he 
let  her  see  beyond  dispute  that,  so  far  as  his 
were  concerned,  he  had  handed  them  up  to 
her  discretion.  And  she  wasn't  the  woman 
to  ignore  responsibility.  She  felt  it  intensely. 
It  chastened  and  sobered  her  at  every  turn. 
I  was  amused  to  watch  her  playing  step- 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE  195 

mother  to  all  these  young  men  who  adored  her. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  effective.  Pier- 
point  was  as  harmless  as  a  sucking  dove. 

It  wasn't  our  fault.  We  couldn't  help  it. 
Not  only  was  she  so  pretty  and  so  sweet;  but 
she  made  us  all  so  cozy.  It  began,  I  remem- 
ber, by  her  taking  over  the  flowers  for  the 
house.  Sandars  had  always  done  them  him- 
self. She  made  a  different  thing  of  it.  One 
became  aware  of  flowers,  and  of  her  at  the 
same  time.  The  scents  mingled,  the  associa- 
tions interacted.  As  Pat  said,  you  found  out 
what  "ripping  things"  flowers  were,  and  how 
"ripping"  she  was,  "in  one  act."  She  used 
to  be  down  long  before  anybody  else;  and 
there  was  always  something  exciting  for  the 
breakfast  table — and,  always,  a  rose  for  the 
chief,  in  a  vase  by  his  plate.  So  it  went  on; 
one  thing  led  to  another.  It  was  Miss  Bacchus 
who  put  her  in  touch  with  Mrs.  Maclntyre, 
the  housekeeper,  and  with  Rose,  the  cook. 
Then  we  found  out  that  Helena  herself  was 
a  good  cook.  Then  that  department  fell  to 
her.  So  it  went  on. 

And  they  all  liked  her,  and  all  accepted  her 
upon  the  fictitious  value.  She  was  not  Miss 


196  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Malleson,  she  was  "the  Baroness,"  but  she 
was  taken  as  the  lady  of  the  house.  She 
wasn't  treated  as  a  visitor.  There  was  no 
question  of  a  visit.  Everything  suggested 
permanency.  They  asked  her  if  the  curtains 
in  her  room  would  do  "till  next  year."  I 
believe  Sandars  thought  she  had  been  born 
there,  had  married,  gone  away,  lost  her  hus- 
band and  come  back  again.  It  is  a  fact  that 
Wilson,  the  head  gardener,  said,  "Don't  your 
ladyship  remember?  We  planted  him  on 
Mafeking  Day?"  She  had  blushed  and 
laughed  as  she  said, "Indeed, Wilson,  I  don't," 
but  she  was  enormously  pleased,  and  Sir 
Roderick,  I  feel  sure,  would  have  liked  to 
raise  his  wages.  It  was  awfully  foolish, 
awfully  fond — but  Lord!  how  happy  they 
were!  Those  three,  the  chief,  Hector,  Helena 
herself — I  believe  that  summer  was  for  each 
of  them  a  time  of  golden  haze,  never  hoped  for, 
never  to  be  forgotten.  I  won't  answer  for  the 
others.  Wynyard  brooded  upon  his  affair, 
and  while  professing  secrecy,  at  any  rate  to 
himself,  was  transparently  concerned  with 
Helena.  Pierpoint  sulked,  and  appeared  to 
shrink  while  you  looked  at  him.  That  was 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE  197 

obviously  because  Wynyard  was  there.  But 
he  stuck  it  out,  though  Helena  had  very  little 
to  say  to  him,  and  didn't  seem  to  have  him 
at  all  at  heart.  It  was  curious  how  he  had 
completely  lost  his  conquering  air.  He  was 
like  a  spent  salmon. 

An  odd  thing  occurred.  We  thought  it  odd 
at  the  time.  Helena  had  brought  no  maid 
with  her,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  talk  about 
getting  one  for  her.  We  were  having  tea. 
Pat  slapped  his  leg  and  jumped  up — "I've 
got  it.  Promote  Ethel.  She's  always  been  a 
trump.  She's  just  the  sort."  Pierpoint  was 
handing  tea-cake  or  muffins.  He  looked  very 
black.  "Rot!"  he  said.  "Wouldn't  do  at 
all."  He  was  as  red  as  a  peony,  and  hated  it. 

Helena  looked  from  one  to  another  as  if  she 
wondered  (a)  why  Pat  had  proposed  the  girl, 
(&)  why  Pierpoint^  objected.  The  chief,  who 
was  rather  slow  at  catching  what  we  talked 
about,  said,  "Of  course.  Of  course.  Univer- 
sally respected.  Nobody  could  do  so  well," 
and  promised  that  Helena  should  see  her. 

Pierpoint,  however,  was  very  much  put  out. 
He  sulked  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  I  had  my 


198  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

own  idea  about  it — which  simply  was  that 
he  had  tried  at  one  time  or  another  to  make  a 
fool  of  the  girl,  and  didn't  care  to  have  two 
of  his  failures  brought  together.  I  think  Miss 
Bacchus  had  ideas  too — but  I  kept  away  from 
her.  It  was  settled,  however,  by  Ethel's 
definitely  refusing.  She  was  perfectly  respect- 
ful, I  heard,  but  perfectly  definite.  She 
couldn't,  and  she  wouldn't.  Sir  Roderick  was 
very  much  offended,  and,  I  believe,  talked  to, 
her  of  "loyalty."  She  wouldn't  do  it,  though. 
Pierpoint  recovered;  but  shortly  afterwards 
he  went  away — yachting,  I  understood,  in 
Norway.  He  seemed  to  me  to  have  put 
Helena  out  of  his  head;  or  he  might  have 
been  waiting  for  Wynyard  to  move. 

Helena,  naturally,  was  changed  from  what 
she  had  been  when  I  knew  her  before.  From 
being  a  reticent  woman  she  was  become  trans- 
parently candid.  You  must  be  very  com- 
fortably off  when  you  can  afford  to  discuss 
your  own  little  weaknesses.  She  said  to  me 
apropos  of  Ethel's  refusal  of  the  coveted  office, 
"Ethel  is  a  beautiful  girl,  but  she  doesn't 
like  me.  Do  you  think  she  knows  about 
me?" 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE  199 

I  was  embarrassed.  This  wasn't  keeping 
up  the  conspiracy.  I  said,  "She  evidently 
doesn't  know  what  everybody  else  knows 
about  you." 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "you  are  all  too  kind.  You 
spoil  me.  But  I  love  it — oh,  I  love  to  be 
spoiled!"  Then  her  eyes  shone  very  bright. 
"Now  you  will  see.  I  will  make  Ethel  like 


me." 


I  said,  Was  that  worth  while  ?  And  she  looked 
at  me,  pondering — as  if  the  question  rather 
was,  Was  7  worth  while?  She  decided,  appar- 
ently, that  I  was,  for  she  took  an  air  of 
decision.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  necessary. 
I  am  greedy.  I  have  a  sweet  tooth,  as  you 
say — and  we  say  it  too.  I  have  a  sweet  tooth. 
I  didn't  know  it — but  it  is  true." 

I  said,  "Oh,  you'll  get  her — never  a  doubt 
of  it.  She's  a  nice,  good  girl,  absolutely 
straight.  I  have  known  her  for  years.  We 
are  quite  good  friends.  I  dance  with  her 
once  a  year." 

She  opened  her  eyes.  "You  dance  with 
Ethel?" 

I  explained  about  the  servants'  ball.  "We 
all  dance  with  her — if  she'll  have  us.  But  she 


200  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

is  in  great  demand.  She's  what  we  call  'the 
thing.'  What  Pat  calls  'it.'  " 

She  smiled,  rather  wisely,  from  under  con- 
tracted brows.  "Does  Pierpoint  call  her 
'it'?" 

I  did  the  best  I  could.  "I  don't  suppose 
he  does  now,  because  obviously  she  is  not  'it.' 
But  I  expect  he  did,  in  his  day.  Everybody 
did,  until  you  taught  them  better.  I  assure 
you,  she's  a  very  nice  girl  indeed." 

Helena  threw  up  her  brows,  as  if  to  shake 
Pierpoint  off  into  the  air,  then  nodded  her 
head  two  or  three  times.  "Yes,  I  like  her. 
I  will  make  her  like  me.  You  will  see — you 
will  see." 

She  began  to  talk  about  Hermione,  her 
child — quite  naturally,  not  concealing  any- 
thing. She  said  that  a  very  dear  friend  of 
hers — a  Pole  like  herself — with  whom  she  had 
exchanged  a  weekly  letter  for  more  than 
fifteen  years,  went  to  see  Hermione  once  a 
week  at  the  Convent  where  she  was  bestowed, 
and  kept  her  regularly  informed.  She  said: 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  do  it,  but  I  write 
to  Hermione  under  cover  to  my  friend,  and 
she  writes  to  me.  My  friend  is  Countess 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE  201 

Voss.  If  there  were  any  trouble  Hermione 
would  go  directly  to  her." 

I  said  that  must  comfort  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  comfortable.  It  is 
better  than  I  could  expect.  She  is  happy 
with  the  nuns.  They  will  not  tease  her.  They 
know  I  should  not  allow  it.  They  are  very 
sensible  ladies." 

I  ventured  to  ask  how  old  Hermione  was. 
"She  is  now  twelve  years,"  she  said.  "I  have 
three  years — a  long  time  for  me." 

"To ?"  I  asked  for  form's  sake. 

"Before  she  leaves  the  nuns.  After  that  it 
will  be  difficult.  I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
do,  but  I  need  not  think  of  that  yet." 

"No,  you  have  time  enough  for  that,"  I 
said.  "Meantime,  you  need  not  fret.  You 
know  that  she  loves  you." 

''Yes,  indeed.  She  loves  me."  She  said 
that  softly,  looking  down  at  her  hands.  Then 
she  added,  still  more  softly,  with  a  pretty  sort 
of  cooing,  soothing  note,  "it  is  the  dearest 
wish  of  my  heart  to  have  her  here,  with  me, 
with  all  of  you  here.  Then  I  shall  have  my 
heart  quite  full.  There  will  be  no  room  left 
in  it." 


202  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  said,  "Except  for  Ethel  Cook." 
She  looked  up  shy,  half-laughingly,     "Oh, 
I'm  not  afraid  of  Ethel,"  she  said. 

That's  what  I  call  settling  down,  you  know. 

A  visit  which  had  been  absurdly  dreaded, 
passed  off  without  trouble.  Why  should  there 
have  been  trouble?  Even  if  the  Marchioness 
had  caught  at  shreds  of  rumour,  what  did  it 
all  come  to  but  that  Pierpoint  had  flirted  with 
a  married  woman?  That's  how  we  put  it  to 
each  other  in  those  days  of  happy  pretence. 
All  the  same,  the  Marchioness  came  alone — 
without  her  girls.  Her  recognition  of  Helena 
was  of  a  glittering  kind,  of  the  kind  which 
takes  nothing  for  granted.  Not  at  all 
empressee,  implying  the  possibility  of  some- 
thing disagreeable  on  the  sky-line.  Wynyard 
said  that  she  took  Helena  as  one  takes  a  snow 
shower  on  the  hills.  She  didn't  ask  after  the 
Baron,  or  make  any  personal  references.  She 
talked  mostly  about  the  Red  Cross,  I  remem- 
ber, and  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  whoever  he 
might  be.  Helena  talked  about  Greece  and 
mentioned  her  dusky  Princess  Glinka  with 
affectionate  mockery.  She  even  dragged 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  HOUSE  203 

Hector  in  to  confirm  an  anecdote,  and  once 
spoke  of  Pierpoint  by  name.  The  Marchioness 
smiled  more  glitteringly  than  ever,  said  it 
must  have  been  delightful,  and  slid  off  on  to 
some  other  subject.  It  was  unfortunate,  I 
thought,  that  no  other  women  were  there. 
Miss  Bacchus  had  gone  to  drink  tea  in  the 
town.  Mrs.  Jack  was  golfing  with  Pierpoint. 
She  saw  three  men,  and  Helena.  It  was 
impossible  to  prevent  the  impression  of  a  snug 
domestic  interior,  with  a  tutelary  goddess. 
The  fact  was  that  she  had  a  very  tutored 
air  upon  her,  soft,  sweet  and  sedate.  She  was 
almost  sleek.  She  sat  by  the  fire  like  a  weel- 
tappit  hen,  indeed,  as  if  she  had  been  born 
to  it.  She  couldn't  help  it.  That  was  how 
she  felt  about  it.  She  had  succumbed  to  the 
prevailing  fiction. 


XV 
INTERRUPTION 

ON  August  13  I  was  again  at  Inveroran,  but 
for  a  very  short  visit.  I  had  left  London  on 
the  night  of  the  nth,  arrived  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  1 2th,  and  was  down  early  next  morning, 
hoping  to  shoot  with  the  party,  which  was 
small  this  year. 

It  was  a  day  of  dry  heat.  There  was  a  faint 
blue  mist  rapidly  clearing  before  the  sun. 
The  country  all  about  was  faintly  bleached 
with  drought.  The  promise  of  the  moment 
was  for  torrid  weather.  It  was  not  yet  nine 
o'clock,  but  the  sky  was  white.  The  sea  lay 
like  a  sheet  of  burnished  steel — motionless? 
colourless. 

Standing  on  the  terrace,  looking  out  over 
the  bay,  I  became  gradually  conscious  of  a 
strange  vessel  anchored  some  half  a  mile  out. 
You  know  the  way  moored  ships  have  of 
seeming  part  of  the  landscape.  I  had  to  look 
long  before  I  made  sure  that  she  was  new. 

This  was  a  large  steam  yacht — with  two  masts. 
204 


INTERRUPTION  205 

She  was  a  white  boat,  with  sharp  bows, 
apparently  about  eighty  tons.  The  burgee 
and  the  flag  at  the  stern  drooped  like  weed  in 
a  windless  air.  I  could  swear  that  she  hadn't 
been  there  yesterday  when  my  steamer  brought 
me  up  from  Glasgow. 

I  stepped  back  into  the  breakfast-room  and 
asked  Sandars  about  her.  He  had  seen  her. 
She  had  been  there  at  seven  o'clock  when  he 
got  up.  Mr.  Fairfax,  the  factor,  had  been  in; 
he  had  asked  him.  But  nobody  seemed  to 
know.  Sandars  said  a  good  many  yachts 
came  in  during  the  summer.  The  anchorage 
was  so  good,  he  said.  They  didn't  stay  long. 
They  usually  landed  a  large  party  for  the 
Abbey  ruins  (these  are  at  Oranmouth  and 
considered  very  fine),  and  took  luncheon.  In 
the  afternoon  they  were  away,  said  Sandars. 

I  went  out  again  to  have  a  look  at  her. 
Black  smoke  straggled  out  of  her  funnel  and 
hung  like  a  cloud  above  her.  A  motor  launch 
came  round  her  stern  and  speeded  for  the 
quay — two  or  three  persons  sat  in  it,  one 
stood  up  with  glasses  to  his  eyes.  I  ran  back 
into  the  house  for  some  glasses,  in  my  turn, 
but  by  the  time  I  had  brought  them  to  bear 


206  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

the  launch  was  under  the  land.  I  examined 
the  yacht  carefully — there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen.  I  saw  a  man  in  white  jacket,  apron  and 
cap  pass  along  the  deck.  A  cook,  I  judged. 
There  were  no  other  signs  of  life.  A  few 
shore  boats  hung  about;  but  there  was  noth- 
ing doing. 

People  strayed  in  to  breakfast.  Hector 
came  up  from  the  gardens.  He  was  the  first. 
I  showed  him  the  yacht.  To  oblige  me,  he 
looked  at  her;  but  his  head  was  full  of  some- 
thing or  other,  and  he  took  no  interest. 
"Trippers,"  he  said,  with  the  glasses  to  his 
eyes,  and  "Trippers,"  as  he  handed  them 
back  to  me.  Then  Pat  came  out,  kilted  and 
brogued  for  the  shoot,  with  shining  morning 
face  and  that  air  of  perfect  fitness  for  any 
mortal  thing  which  is  so  refreshing  to  jaded 
Londoners.  He  was  more  alive  to  the  pict- 
uresque. "Hulloa!  A  sail,  a  sail!  What 
have  we  here  ? "  He  looked  long  and  earnestly. 
"I  bet  you  she's  Italian,"  he  said.  "I  bet 
you,"  said  I,  for  friendliness. 

Then  came  Helena,  all  in  cool  white,  and 
kissed  her  two  brothers,  and  shook  hands  with 
me.  "I'm  going  to  get  the  chief's  rose,  if  I 


INTERRUPTION          ,  207 

can  find  one,"  she  said.     "Who's  coming?" 

"I  am."  That  was  Pat.  Hector  had 
ranked  himself  without  speech.  "But  I  say," 
he  went  on,  "  do  look  at  the  strange  craft.  We 
are  betting  on  her  nation.  I  say,  Italian. 
You  have  all  Europe  to  choose  from — but 
you  can't  have  Italy,  because  that's  bagged. 
Well,  what  do  you  say?" 

Helena  was  looking.  "She's  very,  very 
beautiful.  White  and  gold — yes,  I  see  the 
gold  lines.  And  I  see  somebody  aboard.  In 
a  chair.  With  coffee.  With  Turkish  coffee. 
And  cold  water." 

"Who  is  it?  Masculine  or  feminine? — 
Say  neuter,  do.  No,  don't,  because  it  might 
be  improper."  Pat  looked  carefully  round, 
in  case  he  had  said  what  he  ought  not  to 
have  said. 

But  Helena  took  no  notice  of  him.  She  was 
still  looking.  "  I  don't  want  to  look  any  more, " 
she  said,  and  handed  me  the  glasses.  "I  am 
going  for  the  rose.  The  flag  is  Austrian." 
Her  eyes  loomed,  big  and  heavy.  She  went 
away  slowly,  and  Hector  followed  her  with- 
out a  word.  She  didn't  lift  her  head  so  long 
as  they  were  in  sight. 


208  t      THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  handed  the  glasses  to  Pat.  I  had  seen  the 
Austrian  chequer-board  flag  stream  out  in 
the  little  local  wind.  Pat  put  down  the 
glasses  and  looked  at  me.  He  was  serious 
now. 

"Austrian!"  he  said;  and  I  echoed  him, 
"Austrian!" 

He  said  next,  "Did  you  see  that  chap  in 
the  chair?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"There  were  two  sticks  on  the  deck.  One 
on  each  side  of  him." 

"I  know,  "I  said. 

"Look  here.    What  are  we  to  do?" 

I  said,  "What  can  we  do?  There's  nothing 
to  do.  The  less  you  do  the  better." 

He  took  a  turn  and  came  back.  "Do  you 
think  that  she  saw  him?" 

I  said,  "Yes,  I  do." 

She  didn't  come  to  breakfast;  but  Hector 
saw  it  through.  Directly  it  was  over,  he 
took  Miss  Bacchus  apart  and  explained  to 
her  what  had  upset  Helena.  Miss  Bacchus, 
like  the  Trojan  she  was,  cried  briskly,  "Ho, 
that's  the  game,  is  it?  Well,  I'll  go  and  talk 


INTERRUPTION  209 

to  her  about  it"  —and  went.  The  chief  had 
gone  off  with  his  letters  and  the  paper  to  his 
own  room.  Pat  went  out  on  a  bicycle  to 
find  out  what  was  going  on.  Hector  and  I 
beckoned  Pierpoint  to  follow  us.  Wynyard, 
who  was  finishing  his  breakfast,  called  out 
that  we  should  wait  for  him.  He  came  after 
us,  his  dog  at  his  heels. 

We  went  down  to  the  river  and  sat  there  in 
the  arbour  by  the  aviary.  All  the  time  we 
were  talking,  little  yellow  and  silvery  birds 
darted  across  and  across  like  streaks  of  light. 

Hector  began  on  an  uncertain  note.  "  Pat's 
gone  down  to  the  harbour  to  find  out,"  he 
said;  "so  perhaps  we  had  better  wait  till  we 
hear  what  he  says.  What  do  you  think?" 
He  addressed  that  question  to  me. 

I  said,  "It  doesn't  much  matter  what  Pat 
says.  You  may  take  it  as  a  certainty.  I  saw 
him." 

Wynyard  was  looking  bleakly  at  Pierpoint, 
who  had  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  was 
chewing  a  leaf.  I  hadn't  reckoned  on  what 
followed,  I  must  say. 

"You  there,"  said  Wynyard,  with  a  kind  of 
croak  in  his  voice, "  you've  brought  this  on  us. " 
14 


210  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Pierpoint  looked  up,  red  all  over,  "  I  won't 
take  this  from  you,"  he  said.  "You  had 
better  understand  that." 

But  Wynyard  didn't  flinch.  "Your  d d 

philandering  has  done  it.  Do  you  suppose 
you  are  the  God  of  Love?  Do  you  suppose 
von  Broderode  doesn't  put  it  all  down  to 
your  account  ?  You  fool.  And  do  you  suppose 
the  Marchioness  didn't  tell  him  that  Helena 
was  here — and  that  you  were  here?  Don't 
you  think  she  owes  you  one  for  making  a 
fool  of  that  poor  girl  of  hers?  How  many 
more  women  do  you  want  about  you?" 

Wynyard  was  showing  his  teeth,  and  Pier- 
point  jumped  up  and  towards  him.  I  pulled 
him  back;  and  then  Hector  had  a  chance 
of  cutting  in. 

"You're  only  making  mischief, "  he  said  to 
Wynyard.  Surely  you  don't  want  to  do  that. 
And  you  seem  to  be  reflecting  on  Helena, 
which  I  for  one  won't  have.  We  came  here 
to  see  what  we  could  do  for  her — at  least,  I 
suppose  we  did. "  Pierpoint  had  walked  away 
along  the  river. 

Hector  said,  "Some  one  must  go  and  tell 
my  father.  I  think  he'll  be  offended  when  he, 


INTERRUPTION  211 

finds  out  that  we've  discussed  it  without 
him." 

Wynyard  said,  ''I'll  answer  for  him.  But 
I  tell  you  fairly,  I  won't  answer  for  that  chap. " 
He  jerked  his  head  towards  his  retreating 
brother.  "He's  rotten,"  he  added. 

We  let  that  go  by  and  listened  to  Hector. 
He  said  that  he  wished  to  face  the  Baron  at 
once.  He  proposed  to  go  and  see  him  in  the 
course  of  the  morning;  but  when  I  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  saying  to  him,  he 
wasn't  very  definite.  Discuss  the  situation! 
Wynyard  scoffed  at  that — but  Hector  insisted 
that  he  was  right.  He  said  that  the  man 
must  have  come  here  with  something  in  his 
mind.  Well,  he  hoped  to  find  out  what  that 
was.  Meantime  he  hoped  that  Helena  would 
keep  to  the  grounds.  We  wrangled  about 
this  for  sometime  without  getting  at  close 
quarters.  Hector  then  said  he  must  go  and 
see  his  father — and  just  at  that  moment  Pat 
came  on  the  scene. 

He  was  out  of  breath  and  excited.  "  I  say, 
I've  found  out  all  about  it.  I  saw  the  harbour- 
master. She's  the  Coryphaeus  of  Trieste — 
belongs  to  a  Count  Jellyfish  or  something. 


212  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Wait,  I'll  tell  you."  He  produced  a  paper 
and  read  from  it — "'S.Y.  Coryphceus,  port  of 
origin,  Trieste.  .  .  owner,  Count  Szombar 
Jelacics' — did  you  ever  hear  such  a  name? 
Then  I  went  up  to  the  Marine,  where  they 
are  all  staying.  I  saw  Jellykicks  in  the  hall. 
He's  got  bunches  of  hair  in  his  ears — and  the 
rest  of  it  cut  en  brosse.  He  is  a  hairy  man. 
Tall  chap — wears  stays.  Then  there's  another 
man — sandy  man  with  a  perfectly  round  face — 
all  red.  And  on  the  terrace  I  saw  old  Welcome 
Highlander  and  a  cigar.  So  there  you  are." 
I  said,  "  If  you  take  my  advice,  you  fellows, 
you  will  leave  them  entirely  alone.  You  will 
do  literally  nothing,  and  you  will  go  on  as  if 
literally  nothing  had  happened.  If  you  make 
the  first  move  you  will  put  yourselves  in  the 
wrong.  I  suppose  it  may  be  said  that  you 
have  made  it  already,  and  have  put  yourselves 
in  the  wrong,  but  we'll  leave  it  at  that.  He's 
here  to  bore  her  into  going  back.  He  has 
come  out  here,  in  my  belief,  to  put  you  in  a 
false  position.  Well,  you'll  get  there  if  you 
do  anything.  Legal  process  is  really  his  only 
remedy — and  that's  very  little.  If  he  won't 
take  it,  don't  try  to  force  him. " 


INTERRUPTION  213 

I  didn't  convince  Hector,  I  could  see.  Pat 
was  a  boy,  and  of  course  wanted  to  have  a 
slap  at  them.  I  didn't  expect  to  convince 
him.  But  Wynyard  took  my  side. 

"I  think  he's  right.  I  think  we  must  sit 
it  out."  Pat  said — to  my  surprise — "Can't 
she  be  got  out  of  it?" 

Wynyard  said,  No,  she  couldn't.  He  said, 
if  she  went  away,  she'd  be  hunted.  Once 
start  her  on  a  run  and  there'd  be  no  stopping 
it.  She  couldn't  be  better  off  than  she  was 
here.  It  was  up  to  us  to  see  that,  whoever 
suffered  by  it,  it  wasn't  she. 

And  then  into  the  midst  of  us  she  came,  and 
stood  looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  four 
men  who  loved  her.  She  was  pale,  and  her 
eyes  were  heavy. 

We  all  stood  up  and  waited  for  her.  It 
was  no  time  for  forms  and  ceremonies.  Not 
one  of  us  disguised  our  feelings. 

Pat  broke  the  silence.  "Where's  Pier- 
point?" 

She  said,  "He  is  with  his  father." 

"  Does  father  know  ? "    That  was  Pat  again. 

:'Yes,"  she  said.  "I  told  him.  He  wishes 
to  see  you  all  in  his  room.  But  I  came  because 


2i4  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  thought  that  I  must  see  you  first."  Then 
she  hesitated,  and  I  saw  her  eyes  fill  to  the 
brim.  She  held  out  her  arms — "Let  me  go," 
she  said.  "  Let  me  go. " 

Wynyard  threw  up  his  hand.  He  was 
crimson.  "I'll  die  before  you  shall  go,"  he 
said.  His  eyes  were  burning  and  seemed  to 
smite  her.  She  couldn't  meet  them;  she 
quailed. 

Hector  said — and  he  was  at  the  opposite 
pole  from  his  hot  and  furious  brother — "At 
whatever  cost,  you  must  do  as  you  wish.  If 
you  want  to  leave  us,  it  must  be  so.  If  one 
thing  is  certain,  it  is  that  you  are  free." 

Poor  dear!  If  one  thing  was  certain  it  was 
that  she  was  not  free.  But  one  couldn't  say 
a  word. 

She  went  on  talking,  as  if  to  herself,  as  if 
protesting  to  herself.  There  were  tears  in  her 
eyes,  tears  in  her  voice.  "I  have  been  happy 
— you  were  all  so  kind — how  could  I  be  any- 
thing but  happy?  But  it  is  my  business  to 
be  unhappy.  I  must  not  stop  to  think  about 
it. "  She  shook  her  head,  and  wiped  her  tears 
away.  "Oh,  why  did  you  make  me  happy?" 
she  said  to  Hector,  with  a  gentle  reproach. 


INTERRUPTION  215 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  It  was  absurd,  but 
very  touching.  Why  on  earth  ?  Just  for  an 
idea! 

Hector  would  have  spoken,  but  Wynyard 
brushed  him  and  his  words  away.  "My 
dear,"  he  said,  "you  are  going  to  be  happy. 
That's  why  you  are  here — and  that's  why  we 
are  here.  Come  now  and  talk  to  the  chief. 
We'll  see  you  through." 

He  turned  her;  he  turned  Hector.  She 
went  up  the  slope  between  them,  her  head 
hanging.  Pat  and  I  followed. 

In  the  chief's  room,  backed  by  the  antlered 
heads,  and  long  narrow  portraits  of  bewigged 
Jacobites,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  council  of 
war.  Sir  Roderick  sat,  Pierpoint  stood  beside 
him.  I  thought  he  had  taken  that  place  for 
shelter — but  it  looked  bad.  It  was  his  pres- 
ence, of  course,  that  put  us  in  the  wrong.  We 
crowded  to  the  door  at  first.  Helena  crossed 
the  room  and  went  straight  to  the  old  man. 
He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her 
forehead.  Then  he  told  her  that  she  couldn't 
stop  here  while  we  talked.  He  asked  her  to 
trust  him  to  do  what  was  best  for  her  and  for 


216  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

the  family,  and  said  that  he  would  come  and 
see  her  directly  he  had  talked  to  us.  She  went 
away  quite  quietly,  without  raising  her  head. 
We  talked,  as  usual,  all  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
We  were  in  a  tight  place  undoubtedly,  be- 
cause we  wanted  two  incompatible  things. 
We  wanted  Helena  to  be  happy,  and  we 
wanted  to  have  it  out  with  the  Baron.  Now 
she  couldn't  be  happy  if  she  stayed  with  us, 
nor  if  she  left  us  and  went  back  to  her  husband. 
And  we  couldn't  have  it  out  with  von  Bro- 
derode  either,  because  we  couldn't  drag  her 
name  into  our  debates  with  him.  Only  two  of 
us,  myself  and  Wynyard,  had  an  idea  of  what 
the  Baron  really  meant  to  do.  The  chief 
thought  that  he  meant  to  carry  her  off;  and 
I  believe  that  Hector  suspected  it.  What 
Pierpoint  thought  I  couldn't  make  out.  Not 
that  it  mattered.  He  had  gone  to  pieces. 
We  were  to  know  why  that  was,  in  time;  but 
we  none  of  us  knew  it  then.  Miserable  wretch 
that  he  was!  He  saw  that  we  all  despised 
him — and  yet,  it's  all  very  well,  but  what  he 
could  have  done,  I  really  don't  know.  He 
should  never  have  come  to  Inveroran,  you 
say?  Of  course  he  should  not.  But  he  was 


INTERRUPTION  217 

one  of  those  men  who  only  seriously  begin  to 
want  a  thing  when  it  is  beyond  dispute  that 
they  haven't  a  ghost  of  a  chance  of  getting  it. 
I  am  sure  that  he  began  really  to  desire  Helena 
after  his  check  at  Wynyard's  hands.  I  think 
also  that  her  indifference  to  him  was  a  per- 
petual sting  to  him.  At  this  moment  I  believe 
that  he  was  sincerely  in  love  with  her.  But 
nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  she  neither 
knew  nor  cared  whether  he  was  or  not.  She 
was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Inveroran, 
and  herself  a  daughter  of  the  house.  She  may 
have  loved  him  once;  and  he  had  failed  her. 
Yet  here  she  was!  Here  she  was  in  this 
house,  with  every  male  inhabitant  of  it,  you 
may  say,  at  her  feet.  And  if  she  liked  the 
feeling  of  that,  it's  no  wonder.  There  were 
better  men  than  Pierpoint  there.  Hector  was 
a  better  man,  Wynyard  was  a  better  man. 
Either  Hector  or  Wynyard  would  have  thrown 
up  his  inheritance  for  her.  Hector  would 
have  taken  her  to  Paris  or  London  and  taught 
her  the  uses  of  love  in  a  life  of  obscure  work. 
I  can  see  Hector,  in  a  Chelsea  studio  or  Soho 
attic,  as  happy  as  only  an  artist  can  be.  He 
would  have  been  a  poet,  of  course,  and  I  don't 


218  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

doubt  a  pretty  bad  poet;  but  he  would  have 
been  happy,  and  she  would  have  adored  him 
and  thought  him  a  prince  of  poets.  Wynyard 
would  have  gone  to  Canada  with  her,  or  to  an 
Argentine  ranch.  He  would  have  given  her 
half  a  dozen  children,  and  she  would  have 
thought  him  a  king  of  cowboys.  She  was 
like  that.  She  had  a  sweet  tooth,  as  she  said. 
She  wanted  to  be  loved,  but  much  more  than 
that,  she  wanted  to  love. 

Now  Pierpoint,  once,  had  very  nearly  swept 
her  off  her  feet.  It  was  he  who  had  persuaded 
her  to  run.  He  had  carried  her  passions, 
inflamed  her  imagination;  but  no  more.  He 
had  stopped.  He  had  been  stopped,  but  she 
didn't  know  it.  Pierpoint  had  wanted  her, 
but  had  never  loved  her  as  either  of  the  others 
would.  Pierpoint  was  a  voluptuary,  a  pre- 
cocious Don  Juan.  Helena  was  no  fool.  She 
had  her  feelings  like  other  people  and  they 
had  swamped  her  judgment.  But  when  the 
floods  subsided,  the  wits  returned  to  her.  He 
had  pushed  her  over  the  edge,  and  hadn't 
followed  her.  Well,  she  had  learned  to  do 
without  him.  If  she  had  been  let  alone  she 
would  have  done  very  well  without  matri- 


INTERRUPTION  219 

mony  at  all.  She  had  plenty  of  love  on  hand 
without  that. 

But  here,  up  against  us,  was  that  brisk- 
minded  Baron  von  Broderode  with  but  one 
idea  before  him,  and  no  scruples  about  happi- 
ness or  unhappiness.  What  were  we  to  do 
against  him? 

While  the  chief  listened  to  us,  I  could  see 
which  way  he  himself  inclined.  He  loved  this 
daughter  of  the  house  so  much  that  he  would 
have  sunk  his  chieftainship  for  her,  I  felt  sure. 
But  what  he  loved  still  more  was  his  own 
dignity.  He  had  stiffened  himself  into  intend- 
ing to  keep  her  and  the  chieftainship,  too. 
His  difficulty  was  a  not  unnatural  one.  He 
was  casting  about  for  a  moral  gloss  to  overlay 
his  resolution.  He  was  sharp  enough  to  see 
the  rent  in  Hector's  armour.  The  poor 
Hector  kept  saying  that  Helena  must  be  made 
.happy.  Ridiculous — it  was  only  too  clear 
that  whatever  happened  Helena  must  be 
unhappy.  And,  although  he  admired  it  he 
couldn't  quite  bring  himself  round  to  Wyn- 
yard's  frank  declaration  of  .piracy.  "  She's 
here,  and  she  shall  stay  here,"  said  Wynyard 
over  and  over  again.  This  was  accompanied 


220  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

by  young  Patrick's  "Good  man  — good  old 
Wynyard!"  By  degrees  and  degrees  he  slid 
gently  down  into  the  fine  old  position  of  the 
man  of  property — the  man  in  possession. 
"No,  no,  sir,  possession  is  nine  points  of  the 
law.  We  can't  have  that  interfered  with" 
— and  "What,  sir!  A  man  comes  and  flouts 
me  on  my  own  land!  He  brings  his  ship  into 
my  waters,  and  stays  at  my  own  hotel — and 
— and  threatens  me,  by  Gad!  No,  no — we 
can't  have  that,  my  lads."  So  he  comforted 
himself.  It  didn't  matter;  it  was  established 
that  Helena  was  not  to  go. 

Nothing  was  to  be  done  for  the  present. 
We  were  to  carry  on  as  usual.  We  would 
shoot,  we  would  fish,  play  golf;  we  would 
show  ourselves  abroad.  All  was  to  be  accord- 
ing to  the  time-honoured  ways  of  the  Malleson 
clan.  "They  will  stand  by  us — I  know  them — 
bless  their  red  hearts!"  said  the  old  chief. 
But  Wynyard  didn't  echo  him.  Wynyard 
didn't  care  whether  they  stood  by  him  or  not. 

At  the  close  of  our  meeting  Sir  Roderick 
went  off  to  see  Helena.  I'm  told  the  meeting 
was  very  affecting.  She  cried  in  his  arms,  as 
she  had  done  when  she  first  came,  and  he 


INTERRUPTION  221 

soothed  her  with  his  loving  and  very  possibly 
foolish  old  words.  Then  Pierpoint  came  in 
— looking,  Miss  Bacchus  said,  as  if  he  was 
going  to  the  dentist — and  (as  even  she  allowed) 
behaved  well.  He  asked  her  to  forgive  him; 
he  asked  her  to  forget  him.  Fatuous  young 
man!  She  had  done  that  long  ago.  Of  course 
he  really  meant,  not  to  forget  him.  But  he 
might  have  spared  his  breath.  He  was 
nothing  to  her.  But  she  gave  him  a  sad  and 
gracious  smile — and  I  suppose  he  built  upon 
it,  for  he  began  to  lay  siege  to  her  again 
from  that  hour. 

Sir  Roderick,  however,  was  paramount. 
She  couldn't  stand  up  against  him.  After  all 
she  may  have  reasoned,  it  was  her  own  doing. 
She  had  sent  a  letter  to  his  bosom,  and  fol- 
lowed it  there  in  person.  If  he  had  accepted 
her  it  wasn't  for  her  to  deny  him.  He  was 
going  to  be  besieged  in  his  own  house — and 
here  he  was  patting  her  shoulder  and  taking  it 
as  all  in  the  day's  work.  She  could  only  listen 
to  him  and  be  grateful.  All  should  come  right. 
Would  she  not  trust  them,  since  they  were  one 
and  all  for  her?  What  could  she  say?  She 
gave  herself  to  his  arms,  and  he  led  her  away. 


XVI 
THE  SIEGE  OPENS 

AFTER  luncheon  we  all  felt  adventurous.  Pat 
and  I  said  that  we  would  go  down  to  the  shore 
and  look  about  us.  Hector  and  Wynyard  took 
Helena  up  into  the  hills.  Pierpoint  said  that 
he  should  go  and  give  Mrs.  Jack  a  round  on 
the  links,  and  would  drive  her  down  in  his  cart. 
Pat  was  in  high  fettle.  It  was  all  pure  joy 
to  the  likes  of  him.  I  believe  that  he  had  a 
revolver  on  his  person  somewhere.  I  recog- 
nized his  sword-stick.  Then  there  was  his 
huntsman's  knife.  He  was  armed  to  the 
teeth.  We  took  a  short  cut  over  the  foot- 
hills which  they  call  the  braes,  and  by  a  lane 
which  brings  you  out  by  the  Western  Bank 
about  midway  of  the  main  street.  A  little 
below  this  junction  of  roads  is  Rosemount. 
I  noticed  at  once  that  there  was  something 
going  on  here.  The  blinds  were  up,  the 
windows  open.  A  man  was  scraping  the  front 
door  preparatory  to  a  new  coat  of  paint.  All 
agog  as  we  were  for  the  unexpected,  here 
was  a  flick  on  the  cheek. 

222 


THE  SIEGE  OPENS  223 

We  walked  up  the  short  circular  sweep, 
and  Pat  accosted  the  painter  with  a  "Good 
day,  Donald." 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Patrick.  A  fine  afternoon 
we  are  having. " 

"First-rate,"  says  Pat.  "I  say,  what  are 
you  up  to?  Have  you  got  a  tenant  for  this 
place?" 

The  man  busied  himself  over  his  job.  "I 
couldn't  say,"  we  heard,  and  then — "But  I 
believe."  That's  as  near  as  a  Highlandman 
will  go.  Pat  took  it  as  it  was  meant. 

"  Oh,  you  have  ?  I  wonder  who  that  will  be  ? " 

No  answer  to  that.  We  walked  past  him 
into  the  empty  house.  The  passage  ran 
straight  through  past  the  staircase,  down  a 
step,  and  out,  past  the  kitchen  and  scullery 
to  a  glass  door.  Beyond  that  we  saw  a  decent 
garden,  with  a  large  sycamore  tree  on  a 
square  of  grass.  Then  came  a  privet  hedge — 
kitchen-garden  beyond.  The  two  front  rooms 
had  bow  windows  and  a  full  view  of  Main 
Street  either  way.  They  were  well  above  the 
containing  wall  of  the  front  garden. 

"A  fine  strategic  point,"  I  said;  and  then 
Pat  jumped  to  my  suspicion. 


224  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"I  say,  do  you  suppose  he's  going  to  live 
here?"  " 

I  said,  "That's  my  little  idea." 

He  looked  at  me  with  concern. 

"She'll  hate  that." 

"She  mustn't  know  it,"  I  said. 

Pat  tossed  his  head.  "Know  it!  That's 
absurd.  She's  bound  to  know  it.  She  knows 
everything — God  knows  how."  Then  he 
wondered,  and  admired.  "By  George,  if 
you're  right — and  I  believe  you  are — he's  a 
bit  of  a  great  man,  is  the  Baron.  He  don't 
do  things  by  halves. " 
,  "He's  a  German,"  I  said.  "They  don't." 

"I  thought  Austrians  were  slackers?"  he 
said. 

I  told  him  that  Austrians  were  Germans 
with  a  high  glaze.  "But  we've  scratched  the 
glaze  for  this  one,"  I  said,  "and  are  up 
against  the  German." 

We  were  in  one  of  the  bow-windows,  looking 
out — which  was  foolish  of  us.  Just  then  two 
strangers  turned  in  at  gate. 

"Trapped!"  said  Pat  to  me.  "What  shall 
we  do  now?" 

" Stop  where  we  are, "  I  told  him.  "That's 
all  we  can  do." 


THE  SIEGE  OPENS  225 

The  two  men  were  dressed  with  extreme 
elegance — dark-blue  pea-jackets,  white  ducks, 
white  shoes,  white  yachting-caps.  One  was 
tall  and  slim.  As  Pat  had  reported,  he  was 
very  hairy.  From  one  point  of  view  he  was 
like  a  walking  whisker.  He  had  cavernous 
eyes,  which  at  close  quarters  were  of  fathom- 
less dark.  The  other  had  a  more  Saxon, 
appearance.  He  was  very  fair,  very  pink, 
very  round-faced.  He  wore  an  eyeglass. 

They  saw  us,  straightened  their  backs,  and 
quickened  their  pace.  They  entered  the  house 
and  stood  behind  us  in  the  doorway.  I 
turned,  Pat  turned;  we  took  off  our  hats  and 
made  to  retire,  doing  our  best  to  assume  that 
nothing  had  happened. 

Neither  of  them  returned  the  salute.  The 
tall  and  hairy  gentleman  said  nothing.  The 
shorter  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  colouring 
in  his  round  face,  spoke  with  excitement 
surging  in  his  voice,  and  giving  it  a  bell-like 
resonance. 

"That,"  he  said,  "was  private  property. 
It  was  a  private  house." 

I  said,  "I'm  very  sorry.  It  was  inexcus- 
able." 


226  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  patted  the  ground  with  his  toe.  "It 
was  quite  so,"  he  said. 

The  other  man  looked  at  the  ceiling  and 
murmured  to  it,  "Impossible,"  in  French. 

"You  must  let  me  explain,"  I  said.  "I  did 
not  understand  that  the  house  was  taken.  I 
thought  it  was  to  let. " 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  the  Saxon. 
"It  was  to  let — yes.  But  now  it  is  not  any 
longer  to  let. " 

"Impossible!"  murmured  his  friend,  still 
to  the  ceiling,  "impossible!" 

"In  that  case,"  I  said,  "I  have  the  honour 
to  leave  you  in  possession,  with  many 
apologies." 

They  made  elaborate  room  for  us.  They 
took  off  their  caps  and  almost  swept  the  floor 
with  them.  We  retired,  feeling  what  we  de- 
served to  feel. 

But  our  adventures  were  not  over.  Round- 
ing the  gate,  we  came  plump  upon  the  Baron 
in  a  bath-chair,  which  a  seaman  from  the 
yacht  was  pushing.  By  the  side  of  him  was 
the  dark-skinned  woman  whom  I  had  heard 
called  Teresa  Visconti. 

We  were  so  much  taken   aback  that  Pat 


THE  SIEGE  OPENS  227 

lost  his  head  and  I  the  use  of  my  limbs.  I 
mean  that  Pat,  abruptly  enough,  jerked  out, 
"Hullo,  Baron,"  in  his  freshest  and  youngest 
voice,  and  that  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him. 

He  was  severely  changed  in  looks,  poor  chap, 
but  very  gay.  Disease  had  deepened  the  lines, 
and  Nature  surged  outwards  where  she  could. 
His  eyes  were  heavily  bagged,  his  cheeks  had 
hollowed;  he  seemed  to  hold  his  head  side- 
ways in  order  to  look  up  at  us.  His  gnarled 
hands  clasped  on  his  stick  shook  fearfully. 
But  he  was  his  old  galliard  self  within  walls.' 

"Ha!"  he  said,  "here's  my  old-young 
friend,  the  cool  cucumber.  How  are  you? 
And  how  is  your  friend  Patrick?  Quite  well? 
That  is  excellent.  With  me  it  is  only  so-so. 
But  you  see  I  remember  Inveroran.  I  like  it 
so  much  that  after  two  years  I  remember  it, 
and  the  Games  of  Odysseus.  And  the  ball — 
what?  You  have  a  ball  this  year  at  the 
Castle?" 

I  said  that  old  customs  die  hard  at  Invero- 
ran. Whereupon  he  bent  his  shaggy  brows 
upon  me,  and  said  in  his  throat,  "Yes,  they 
diehard." 

Then  he  changed  the  subject  and  asked  us, 


228  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

How  did  we  like  his  house?  Pat  said  it  was  a 
good  house.  He  addressed  the  next  remark  to 
me: 

"I  owe  you  that  house  of  mine — do  you 
remember?  We  talked  of  Peter  Grant,  and 
you  told  me  of  the  lady,  the  bonne  amie,  his 
ancestress?  Well,  Mr.  Peter  Grant  sells  to 
me.  That  is  now  my  castle  at  Inveroran. 
The  Englishman's  house  is  so-called,  eh?  It 
is  a  fine  prospect.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  ? " 

I  agreed  that  it  would  suit  his  purpose 
excellently.  He  said,  "My  purpose!  What 
do  you  know  of  my  purpose,  ha?" 

One  of  the  Baron's  most  valid  qualities 
was  that  he  very  rarely  got  angry.  I  thought 
that  he  was  going  to  break  out  now — but  he 
caught  himself  in  the  act,  and  bent  off  on  a 
side  track.  He  turned,  beaming,  on  Pat. 
"And  what  will  Mr.  Patrick  be  doing  in  these 
piping  times?"  he  asked.  "How  goes  it 
with  Oxford  nowadays?" 

Patrick  grinned  and  said  that  Oxford  was 
going  strong  when  he  last  saw  it.  They  ex- 
changed a  few  pleasantries  before  we  left  him. 
He  waved  his  hand  to  us  and  was  wheeled  up 
the  sweep  of  his  outpost. 


THE  SIEGE  OPENS  229 

We  walked  down  the  Main  Street,  and  I  had 
just  said  that  we  had  learned  one  thing  at 
least,  which  was  that  the  Baron  expected  a 
long  leaguer,  when  Pat  became  confidential. 
He  took  my  arm. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  "he's  rather  an  old 
sportsman,  isn't  he?" 

I  said,  Certainly  he  was. 

Pat  added  more  of  his  inverted  praise — 
such  as  that  he  seemed  not  half  a  bad  old 
chap — and  then  went  on  to  muse. 

"I  suppose  she  can't  stand  him — at  any 
price?  I  don't  know,  you  know,  but  I  should 
have  said  he  could  be  good  company." 

I  didn't  feel  that  I  could  discuss  such 
delicate  matters  as  underlay  these  youthful 
misgivings.  What  I  did  say  was  that  Helena 
had  seemed  very  depressed  when  she  was 
with  him,  and  was  only  depressed  now  when 
she  heard  that  he  was  near  her  again.  That 
didn't  look  well,  I  said.  I  admitted  that  it 
couldn't  be  used  as  an  argument,  but  re- 
minded him  that,  for  what  it  was  worth,  she 
had  been  extraordinarily  happy  with  us. 

He  was  full  of  thought.  He  said,  "I  know, 
I  know,"  And  then  jumped  into  altruism. 


23o  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"Of  course  the  decent  thing  to  do  would  be 
for  him  to  say,  Look  here,  I  can  see  you  are  as 
happy  as  a  bird  up  there.  All  right — I'm 
glad — God  bless  you.  And  then  clear  out! 
Mind  you,  that's  what  old  Hector  would  do 
— to-morrow.  But  the  Baron  don't  look  at 
it  like  that." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  said.  "The  Baron  says, 
She  belongs  to  me.  I  bought  and  paid  for 
her.  And  she's  useful — she  amuses  me. " 

Pat  said,  "Oh,  shut  up.  I  don't  believe  it- 
I've  half  a  mind  to  go  back  and  ask  him." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't,"  I  said.  "He'd 
make  things  worse  than  they  are." 

"Well,"  Pat  said,  "if  you  ask  me,  I  don't 
think  they  could  be  much  worse.  Are  you 
going  to  tell  them  what's  happened?" 

I  said  that  I  should  tell  Hector,  but  nobody 
else.  He  said,  "Poor  old  Hector.  He's  badly 
knocked  over  this.  So's  Wynyard. " 

I  said,  "I  must  say  that  if  she  had  to  run 
away,  I  wish  it  had  been  Hector  or  Wynyard 
who  had  persuaded  her.  There  wouldn't 
have  been  this  absurd  siege — and — oh,  well? 
it's  no  good  talking  about  that." 

Pat  said,  "I  know  what  you  were  going  to 


THE  SIEGE  OPENS  231 

say.  Pierpoint's  a  rotter — but  there  he  is. 
And  she  don't  care  two  straws  for  him.  And, 
after  all,  he  didn't  run  away  with  her." 

"Why  the  deuce  can't  Pierpoint  go 
abroad?'1  I  snapped  out.  "The  Baron 
might  follow  him  to  Canada." 

Then  Pat  looked  at  me.  "You  don't  think 
the  Baron  cares  about  Pierpoint!  I'll  bet  you 
what  you  like  he's  never  given  him  a  thought. " 

There  it  was.     Of  course  he  hadn't. 

"Hector, "  Pat  said,  "would  never  have  run 
away  with  her.  He'd  have  been  in  love  with 
her,  and  she  with  him — and  for  that  reason 
alone  he  wouldn't  have  done  her  any  harm. 
He  couldn't.  He's  got  such  a  nice  mind.'' 

"I  think  you  are  right  about  Hector,"  I 
agreed.  "He's  not  a  strong  man,  but  he's  a 
gentleman.  Now  Wynyard " 

Again  Pat  looked  at  me.  "Do  you  want 
my  real  opinion?  I  believe  that  Pierpoint 
would  have  got  her  if  he  could,  but  that 
Wynyard  wouldn't  let  him." 

Then  in  fair  exchange  I  gave  him  my  own 
real  opinion,  which  was  that  Helena  didn't 
want  to  run  away  with  anybody  in  par- 
ticular, but  was  perfectly  happy  as  she  was. 


232  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

All  she  wanted  was  for  everybody  to  be  in 
love  with  her. 

Pat  shook  his  head  knowingly.  "Well, 
everybody  is — including  old  Two-Sticks.  In 
a  way,  you  know.  You  are,  I  suppose " 

I  owned  to  it,  "in  a  way." 

"Well,  so  am  I — in  a  way." 

"And  what's  your  way?"  I  said. 

He  told  me.  "I  want  her  to  be  happy — I 
want  her  to  be  about  to  look  at — to  be  there 
when  I  come  back,  and  to  make  things  go- 
But  I  don't  want  to  run  away  with  her.  That 
would  spoil  the  fun.  And  besides — oh,  well — 
it  wouldn't  do." 

I  adjured  him  to  continue;  and  he  made  a 
ather  acute  remark.  "She's  one  of  those 
sort  of  women,"  he  said,  "who  lend  them- 
selves to  exclusiveness.  If  I  were  to  let  myself 
fall  in  love  with  her — in  that  sort  of  way, 
you  know — I  should  want  to  lock  her  up  in  a 
castle  and  have  her  to  myself." 

"That's  how  the  Baron  feels  about  it,"  I 
said. 

"Yes,"  said  Pat,  "I  know  he  does.  And 
we  can't  have  that — can  we?" 

I  said,  We  should  have  to  see  about  it. 


XVII 
HECTOR  IN   FORCE 

I  HAD  seen  some  curious  looks  bent  upon  us 
during  our  afternoon  in  the  town,  and  felt 
pretty  sure  that  the  place  was  humming  with 
surmise.  Mrs.  Chevenix  reported  as  much 
when  we  met  her  before  dinner.  She  said  she 
was  bespattered  with  looks,  and  thought  that 
she  didn't  much  care  about  it.  "Really,  I 
think  the  poor  dear  will  have  to  go,"  she  said 
"The  whole  town  must  know  about  it  by  this 
time,  and  you  know  how  they  feel  about  such 
things." 

I  said,  No  doubt.  But  would  Sir  Roderick 
give  her  up?  She  didn't  know  him  as  well 
as  I  did.  Poor  Helena  was  now  not  much 
more  than  a  symbol. 

She  said,  Surely  it  could  be  arranged.  Her 
advice  was  that  Hector  and  I  should  see  the 
Baron  and  try  to  make  terms.  I  didn't  tell 
her  then  that  I  had  seen  him;  but  I  did  tell 
her  what  I  thought  we  were  in  for.  I  told  her 
about  Rosemount  and  the  Baron's  two  friends. 

233 


234  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

"We  are  besieged,  you  know.  Inveroran  is 
become  a  second  Troy,  and  the  ships  of  the 
Achaians  are  in  the  roadstead.  Menelaus  is 
putting  up  his  hut." 

She  was  amused.  "And  Achilles — is  he 
there?" 

"I've  seen  him  to-day.  He's  a  hairy  man, 
but  very  elegant.  However,  he  can't  talk 
Trojan." 

"And  will  they  get  in  on  a  wooden  horse?" 
she  asked  me. 

I  said,  "They'll  get  in  on  a  high  horse,  if 
we're  not  careful." 

She  looked  at  me,  lowered  her  voice.  "You 
really  think  they  will ?" 

I  said,  "I  do  think  so.  They'll  turn  the 
whole  place  against  us,  except  for  a  few  of  the 
Clan  Malleson.  It's  rank  nonsense,  you 
know,  because  you  aren't  bound  to  have  a 
man  to  stay  with  you;  but  the  trouble  is 
with  Pierpoint.  If  it's  known — as  of  course 
it  is — that  he's  thrown  up  his  commission, 
they'll  put  two  together — and  make  a  couple. 
But  I  sharply  suspect  that  we're  in  for  a 
fight.  Pierpoint  won't  go,  and  the  chief 
won't  let  Helena  go  either.  He  has  got  his 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  235 

back  up;  but  so  has  von  Broderode.  How- 
ever, I'll  tell  Hector  what  you  say.  I'm 
quite  willing  to  go  down  with  him — if  we  are 
allowed." 

She  told  me  more.  "  Helena  is  a  strange 
creature.  She  has  a  perfect  hunger  for 
people.  Do  you  know  that  she  has  won  over 
that  good-looking  maid  who  wouldn't  have 
anything  to  do  with  her?  She  told  me  just 
before  I  came  down  that  she  was  much  happier 
now.  I  asked  her,  Why?  'Oh, '  she  said, 
*  because  I  have  made  great  friends  with 
Ethel.'  Ethel!  I  didn't  know  who  on  earth 
she  meant — but  it's  the  maid.  I  asked  her 
how  she  had  done  it.  She  said,  'Oh,  I  told 
her  of  my  troubles,  and  we  cried  together. 
I  feel  better.'  She  told  me  that  the  girl  had 
troubles  too — and  you  know  what  that  usually 


means.' 


I  protested  strongly.  I  said  there  wasn't  a 
more  virtuous  young  woman  in  England;  but 
Mrs.  Jack  said  that  you  never  knew.  How- 
ever, Helena  couldn't  tell  her  any  more 
because  she  didn't  know  any  more.  But 
wasn't  Helena  extraordinary?  she  said.  "If 
your  troubles  were  her  troubles,  I  don't  think 


236  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

you'd  talk  about  them  to  another  man's 
maids,  do  you?"  I  didn't  think  you  would. 
Mrs.  Jack  began  again.  "Oh,  and  there's 
another  thing  that  she  said.  I  must  tell 
you.  She  said,  'I  am  sure  that  Ethel  can 
help  me.  You'll  see  that  she  will.'  I  asked 
her  how?  She  didn't  know,  but  she  was  quite 


sure." 


There  was  no  doubt  that  Helena  was  in 
much  better  spirits.  I  observed  her  at  dinner, 
and  again  afterwards  when  we  were  in  the 
drawing-room,  doing  our  respectable  best  to 
pretend  that  nothing  had  happened.  I  saw 
her  the  centre  of  a  group  by  the  fire — for  the 
nights  were  chill  although  we  were  in  mid- 
August,  and  the  log  fire  made  a  -point  (Tappui. 
Pat  was  with  her,  talking  nonsense  while  he 
held  out  silk  for  her  to  wind;  old  Laura 
Bacchus  was  near-by,  twinkling  while  she  took 
it  all  in  and  absorbed  it  into  her  seasoned  old 
head.  Wynyard  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
mantelpiece,  frowning  down,  but  evidently 
at  peace  with  the  world.  Helena  talked  and 
flashed  her  eyes,  softly  bright,  now  at  Pat  on 
his  knees  before  her,  once  or  twice  quickly  up 
at  Wynyard.  Sometimes  she  telegraphed  over 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  23? 

to  Mrs.  Chevenix,  who  was  playing  piquet 
with  the  chief.  Pierpoint  sat  by  himself, 
reading.  I  wondered  over  the  scene — and  as 
I  wondered,  Hector,  who  was  with  me,  drew 
me  apart.  We  went  out  into  the  hall. 

There  he  said,  after  some  preface  about  his 
wonder  whether  he  ought  to  tell  me  or  not — 
which  I  solved  for  him  by  saying  that  I  was 
only  stopping  here  to  be  of  use,  and  that  if  I 
couldn't  know  what  was  going  on  I  could  be 
of  no  use  and  had  better  clear — it  was  then 
that  he  said,  "She  has  dismissed  Pierpoint." 
That  shook  me  to  the  core,  as  Pat  says. 

"What  do  you  mean — ?"  Then  he  told 
me  of  the  scene  already  related,  where  Pier- 
point  solemnly  asked  to  be  forgiven,  and  was 
forgiven.  So  Pierpoint,  Hector  thought,  was 
out  of  it. 

So  did  I  think  at  the  time.  "No  wonder 
she  is  happier.  She  has  done  the  right  thing." 

"She  has  done  the  only  thing,"  he  said. 

"Her  next  move  will  be  to  go  back  to  her 
Baron,  you'll  see."  But  he  said,  No,  to  that. 

He  said,  "She  won't  go  back.  She  may 
want  to  run  away — for  our  sakes.  But  she 
won't  go  back  to  him,  because  she's  afraid  to. 


238  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  think  myself  that  she  would  like  to  go  back 
to  Vienna  and  into  a  convent.  She  could  see 
the  child  then,  and  not  be  in  any  danger.  She 
has  got  to  hate  von  Broderode — to  hate  and 
to  dread  him." 

I  asked,  "How  do  you  know,  Hector?" 

"She  told  us  so — Wynyard  and  me  this 
afternoon.  She  talked  with  absolute  freedom, 
as  if  we  were  her  blood-brothers.  She  said 
that  she  had  been  wicked,  but  that  it  was 
over.  She  said  that  she  didn't  intend  to  be 
wicked  any  more.  That  was  how  she  put  it. 
And  then  she  said  quite  calmly,  *I  have  been 
wicked,  but  I  have  learned  by  it.  I  have 
learned  how  to  be  good.  I  could  not  go  back 
to  him  (she  never  names  him,  you  know,  or 
calls  him  her  ( husband')  now — for  that  would 
be  shameful  for  me.  I  would  stay  with  you 
all  if  I  could  be  allowed.  There  would  be  no 
harm — except  to  you.  That  is  why  I  hope 
you  will  let  me  go  home." 

"How  did  Wynyard  take  it?"  I  wanted  to 
know. 

He  said,  "She  has  a  great  power  over 
Wynyard.  She  knew  that  she  could  do  what 
she  liked  with  me.  All  her  coaxing  and 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  239 

confidence  was  directed  to  him.  She  took  his 
arm  and  reasoned  with  him.  He  didn't  say 
anything — either  for  or  against;  but  I  don't 
think  he  will  be  much  trouble." 

Then  I  told  him  what  Pat  and  myself  had 
let  ourselves  in  for.  He  said  at  once,  "If 
she  knows  this  it  will  settle  it.  She  will  go. 
But  if  my  father  knows  it  he  won't  let  her. 
This  will  infuriate  him.  He'll  connect  it 
with  the  Malleson  Curse."  He  looked  at  me 
with  wide,  serious  eyes.  "And,  of  course,  it 
does  connect  with  it — remarkably.  You  see 
that?" 

I  said  that  I  saw  what  he  meant.  Provi- 
dence did  not  intend  there  to  be  a  daughter  in 
Inveroran.  The  Baron  was  the  instrument  of 
Heaven.  That  was  it! 

He  took  it  with  the  utmost  seriousness. 
"We  are  bound  to  fight  it.  And  we  will  fight 
it.  I  must  tell  my  father  of  this." 

He  wouldn't  hear  of  going  to  see  the  Baron. 
He  was  deeply  incensed  by  what  I  had  told 
him — so  much  so  that  he  failed,  I  thought,  to 
appreciate  the  science  and  capacity  for  action 
of  the  enemy.  In  fact,  I  had  begun  with  a 
nerveless  idealist  and  had  turned  him  into  a 


24o  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

passion-swept  clansman,  all  raw  head  and 
bloody  bones. 

He  left  me  and  went  over  to  his  father.  He 
stood  by  him,  watching  the  game  for  a  little; 
then  I  saw  him  put  his  hand  on  the  chief's 
shoulder.  The  old  man  finished  out  his  hand, 
and  then  bowed  to  his  opponent  and  got  up. 
Hector  told  him.  I  saw  the  news  catch  him 
about  the  midriff  and  flood  upwards  to  his 
face.  His  bald  head  was  suffused  with  crim- 
son. He  looked  like  an  affronted  wild  beast 
— a  stag  or  a  bull  startled  in  front  of  his 
feeding  herd.  They  made  a  fine  pair,  the 
two  of  them;  for  Hector  was  flushed  and 
fierce. 

The  chief,  amid  the  concern  of  all  present, 
signalled  to  Wynyard  and  Pierpoint  to  follow 
him.  They  obeyed  at  once,  without  any  fuss. 
Pat  jumped  up  to  go  with  them.  His  father 
frowned,  faltered — then  allowed  it.  They 
took  no  notice  of  me,  and  I  made  no  effort  to 
follow  them  out.  Directly  they  were  gone 
Helena  fled  across  the  room  to  Miss  Bacchus, 
and  knelt  by  her  side.  As  for  me,  I  was  very 
uncomfortable  where  I  was,  and  not  very 
clear  where  else  I  could  be.  At  any  rate  I 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  241 

thought  that  I  would  leave  the  ladies  alone. 
I  took  a  cigarette  in  the  hall  and  walked 
about  on  the  terrace. 

I  may  have  been  there  the  better  part  of 
an  hour.  It  was  a  beautiful,  soft,  clear  night. 
The  stars  were  brilliant,  but  there  was  no 
moon.  Peace  was  abroad;  the  river  tinkled 
below  me  in  the  dark;  the  owls  shrilled  as 
they  quested.  Man,  as  usual,  seemed  jarringly 
out  of  place  in  such  a  world  as  this,  because 
while  he  so  plainly  didn't  belong  to  it,  he 
was  so  plainly  doing  what  the  rest  of  it  was 
after.  Those  owls  were  hunting  mice;  out  in 
the  thickets  there  were  stoats  after  the  blood 
of  flying  rabbits.  Foxes  were  abroad  quick- 
nosed  for  hens.  Great  trout  in  the  pools 
were  scattering  shoals  of  fry.  It  was  a  world 
of  warfare;  and  there  were  my  friends  of  old, 
my  hosts,  at  the  same  red  game.  Helena  was 
the  prize.  Down  in  the  town,  men  were 
laying  schemes  for  her;  up  here  too  were 
men,  who  had  her,  devising  how  best  to  keep 
her.  What  did  all  this  mean?  Must  we  give 
up  the  game?  Were  we  indeed  stoats  and 
foxes — wolves  in  coats  and  trousers?  I  was 

16 


242  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

in  a  cynical  mood.  Was  not  this  what  it 
came  to  ? 

Out  of  the  dark  came  a  white  figure.  It 
was  Helena  herself. 

She  passed  quite  close  to  where  I  was  lean- 
ing over  the  balustrade.  I  had  seen  her  face 
like  a  pale  disk.  But  she  did  not  come  alone; 
she  was  accompanied  by  a  woman  in  black, 
whose  face  also  I  saw  like  a  grey  moon  beside 
hers.  Helena  was  talking  vehemently.  "I 
must — I  tell  you  I  must — but  not  alone.  I 
am  afraid  of  him  too  much.  But  you  will 
come  with  me — you  are  so  strong.  I  know 
that  you  will.  .  .  ."  They  passed  on  along 
the  terrace  and  I  heard  no  more.  They  did 
not  return;  they  had  gone  down  the  steps, 
probably  to  the  river  walk.  I  had  no  doubt 
as  to  who  her  companion  was.  It  was  her 
new  friend  Ethel  Cook.  Extraordinary  that 
she  should  have  picked  out  that  girl!  She 
had  dear  old  Laura  Bacchus,  and  Mrs.  Chev- 
enix,  a  brick,  if  ever  there  was  one — but  she 
chose  to  confide  in  a  maid!  It  was  pure 
instinct,  of  course.  Women  jump  at  these 
things,  or  we  think  so.  But  they  communi- 
cate with  each  other  in  ways  that  men  will 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  243 

never  understand.  I  wondered  whether  Ethel 
would  go  with  her,  whether  they  would  cut 
the  knot  that  way — and  was  still  wondering 
when  Hector  came  out  and  called  me.  I 
answered  his  whistle  and  he  came  down. 

He  apologized  for  leaving  me  in  the  lurch. 
It  was  become  now,  he  said,  so  purely  a  per- 
sonal matter  that  he  had  not  dared  to  suggest 
my  presence  to  his  father,  who  would  not  have 
liked  it.  "He  is  so  edgy  just  now,"  said 
Hector,  "that  he  don't  like  Pat  to  be  present, 
just  because  he  had  talked  to  von  Broderode." 

I  laughed.  "Poor  old  Pat!  He  did  it  in 
the  simplest  way.  He's  not  such  a  Highlander 
as  most  of  you.  It's  Oxford." 

Hector  said  quietly,  "I  was  at  Cambridge, 
as  you  know.  But  I  understand  my  father's 
feeling.  But  however — "  he  broke  away. 
"We  have  had  it  out  at  last.  We  are  going 
to  see  it  through.  There  will  be  lots  of  trouble. 
The  town  will  make  difficulties,  and  so  will 
the  country.  The  clansmen  up  the  glens  will 
hold  by  us.  We  are  going  to  carry  on." 

"As  if  nothing  had  happened?"  I  asked. 

He  said,  "Precisely.  We  feel  that  this 
matter  of  the  legend,  curse,  which  you  choose, 


244  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

must  be  faced.  There  never  has  been  £ 
daughter  of  this  house — it  does  so  happen. 
Now  there  is  one.  If  we  give  way,  my  father 
feels  that — I  agree  with  him;  we  all  do " 

"Well?  Put  it  definitely,  for  my  plain 
intelligence,"  I  said. 

"I'll  try,"  said  Hector.  "We  all  feel  that 
if  we  surrender  Helena  now,  we  shall  be  giving 
in  to  tradition,  with  unfortunate  results." 

"Do  you  seriously  think  that  the  results,  if 
any,  of  your  allowing  her  to  go  back  could  by 
any  possibility  be  worse  than  those  of  her 
staying  on  here?  I  really  want  to  under- 
stand," I  explained. 

Hector  said,  "Yes,  we  do.  If  she  leaves  us 
we  establish  a  record  against  ourselves.  People 
will  believe  in  the  curse.  If  she  stays,  the 
man  will  get  sick  of  it,  and  go.  He  must  die 
very  soon.  You  tell  me  he  is  much  worse. 
When  he  is  dead  the  matter  can  be  regularized. 
Then  she  will  no  doubt  marry  Pierpoint." 

"I  am  certain  that  she  won't,"  I  told  him. 
"She  will  never  have  anything  to  do  with 
Pierpoint  again.  After  all,  my  dear  chap,"  I 
said,  "what  has  she  had  to  do  with  him? 
Aren't  you  lending  yourself  to  silly  scandal- 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  245 

mongering  among  the  townsfolk  by  continuing 
the  legend  that  she  nearly  ran  away  with 
him?  The  facts  are  that  Pierpoint  wanted 
her  to,  and  that  she  didn't.  There  are  no 
other  facts,  so  far  as  I  know." 

Hector  looked  very  stiff  and  solemn.  "We 
can  hardly  discuss  it,"  he  said.  "But  seeing 
what  she  said  this  afternoon  I  don't  suppose 
you'll  dispute  that  she  also  thought  of  an 
elopement.  As  for  the  townspeople — what 
sticks  in  their  gizzards  is  that  Pierpoint  is 
here  with  her — and  that  the  Baron  is  there 
without  her." 

"All  right,"  I  snapped  out,  "then  why  the 
devil  don't  Pierpoint  go  away?" 

Hector  looked  pained.  "After  the  Baron's 
arrival?  Do  you  think  that  would  help  us?" 

Of  course  it  wouldn't.  So  then  I  attacked 
him  on  the  other  side  of  the  matter.  How  did 
he  know  that  she  didn't  want  to  go? 

He  said  that  he  didn't  believe  that.  She 
was  too  fond  of  his  father,  and  too  apt  for 
happiness  here  to  give  it  up  lightly.  Besides 
that,  she  was  morbidly  afraid  of  Broderode. 
He  was  on  her  nerves. 

I  said,  "Well — we  won't    argue  about   it. 


246  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

We  can't.  But  I  seriously  hope  that  you 
won't  let  there  be  any  constraint  put  upon 
her.  If  you  do  that — if  there  is  any  sign  of 
that — I  must  go.  Indeed,  I  must  go  pretty 
soon,  at  all  events.  I  am  very  little  use  to 
you  here.  Don't,  however,  force  me  to  go. 
I'm  entitled  to  say  that." 

He  assured  me  earnestly  that  there  would 
be  no  compulsion.  He  said,  "She  had  put 
matters  as  right  as  they  could  be  put,  of  her 
own  accord.  They  could  be  no  more  right  if 
she  left  us  to-morrow.  That  being  so,  there 
was  no  reason  in  the  world  why  she  should 
distress  herself." 

We  both  looked  round.  She  was  returning 
with  her  maid,  and  this  time  she  saw  us.  She 
didn't  falter  or  turn  aside,  but  she  disengaged 
her  arm,  and  while  Ethel  Cook  went  on, 
stayed  to  talk  to  us.  "We  have  been  down 
by  the  river.  It  is  so  still  that  you  can  hear 
the  fishes'  lips  as  they  rise  to  the  fly.  And  all 
so  beautiful — so  beautiful — that  it  made  me 
cry.  I  would  like  to  be  as  beautiful  as  a 
summer  night." 

Hector  said,  "You  are  more  beautiful  than 
that."  She  didn't  rise  to  it. 


HECTOR  IN  FORCE  247 

"Ah,  no,  indeed.  If  I  were  you  would  all 
be  happy  in  this  lovely  place — and  there 
would  be  no  terrible  things  between  you.  Oh, 
what  can  I  do?  You  have  been  so  kind  to 
me,  I  feel  that  I  must  do  something." 

Hector  said,  "My  dear,  be  kind  to  my 
father,  who  loves  you  very  much,  and  has 
never  had  a  daughter." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands;  I  felt 
that  she  was  crying.  We  both  stood  still,  not 
daring  to  attempt  consolation. 

She  mastered  her  passion  and  uncovered 
her  face,  but  she  clasped  her  hands  under  her 
chin.  "He  knows  that  I  love  him.  If  he 
needs  me  I  will  stay  with  him.  It  is  the 
least  I  can  do.  What  do  I  matter?  Is  he 
there?  I  will  go  to  him  now."  And  she 
went  lightly  and  fleetly  away. 


XVIII 
THE  BATTLE  SWAYS 

WE  rode  up  Glen  Oran  to  the  Clan  meeting 
at  Broken  Cross;  but  a  good  deal  happened 
before  that,  enough  to  remind  us  that  we  were 
really  besieged.  The  rumours  flying  about 
the  town  and  countryside  focussed  at  last 
upon  a  deputation.  Before 'that  there  had 
been  pulpiteering  at  work.  I  don't  know  that 
the  Mallesons  were  prayed  for  by  name,  but 
that  they  were  obliquely  prayed  for  I  do  hap- 
pen to  know.  Then  there  were  two  letters  in 
the  local  paper,  one  signed  Ruat  Ccelum  and 
another  Anxious  Mother  of  Seven,  which  were 
guardedly  referred  to  in  a  leading  article. 
The  time  was  coming  on  for  the  Gathering, 
and  something  must  be  done. 

So  the  deputation  came,  and  I  caught  sight 
of  them  from  the  terrace.  Three  black- 
coated  gentlemen,  obviously  clerical,  and  one 
tall  and  lean  man  in  riding-breeches  and  a 
checked  cap.  The  chief  had  been  persuaded 

not  to  see  them — it  was  put  to  him  on  the 

248 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  249 

score  of  his  dignity;  and  it  may  even  be  that 
he  guessed  he  would  lose  his  temper.  Anyhow 
he  wasn't  there,  and  Hector  saw  them  alone 
for  about  half  an  hour.  Everybody  was  very 
polite,  he  said,  and  no  names  were  named. 
Refreshments  were  served,  and  they  went 
away.  He  was  reticent  about  it,  and  I  didn't 
press  him;  but  I  collected  that  the  Annual 
Sports  Meeting  would  not  be  held  in  the  Port 
Field  as  usual,  because,  as  I  understood,  the 
Deputation  had  said  that  the  Town  would 
be  unable  to  support  it,  in  view  of  public 
opinion.  Here  was  a  definite  Act  of  War,  and 
the  meeting  of  the  Clan  at  Broken  Cross  was 
to  answer  it. 

The  summons  was  sent  round  by  night — 
a  picturesque  ceremony.  The  messengers 
gathered  in  front  of  the  Castle.  They  all 
had  unlighted  torches.  Sir  Roderick  and  his 
sons,  Helena  with  the  ladies  staying  in  the 
house,  and  myself  stood  on  the  steps.  The 
chief  gave  out  the  message  in  Gaelic,  which 
was  received  with  perfect  silence.  Then 
Hector  produced  a  lighted  torch  of  resinous 
pine  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  The 
men  came  and  lighted  their  brands  from  his 


250  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

and  the  whole  forecourt  flared  and  gloomed 
as  the  lights  wavered  in  the  night  wind. 

They  turned  to  the  terrace;  they  sped 
down  the  slopes — it  was  a  strange  and 
romantic  sight.  We  saw  them  dive  down  the 
steep  banks  of  Oran  and  ford  the  water, 
throwing  up  into  full  vision  as  they  did  so 
the  very  fronds  of  the  fern  on  the  further 
shore,  the  very  stones  and  eddies  of  the  swift 
river.  After  that  they  separated,  and  we 
could  watch,  as  it  were,  meteor  paths  to  all 
quarters  of  the  East,  South  and  North,  and 
see  them  rise  and  pause,  dip  and  pursue,  wax 
and  wane,  according  as  the  boulder-strewn 
tracks  held  them.  Remote  as  I  was  by  breed- 
ing and  temper  from  the  Gael,  one  could  not 
but  be  struck  by  the  intensity  of  their  devotion 
to  an  idea.  Sir  Roderick  Malleson  had  little 
to  do  with  it;  Pierpoint  and  his  unlawful  prac- 
tice less.  It  was  the  Clan  which  these  fleet 
and  intent  messengers  were  serving,  just  as 
certainly  as  the  Jacobite  rising  of  1745  had 
not  been  for  the  worthless  rip  Charles  Edward 
but  for  a  much  bigger  thing. 

The  meeting  was  for  that  day  week,  and  in 
the  interval  little  or  nothing  happened.     The 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  251 

house  settled  itself  to  a  new  condition  of 
things,  and  outwardly  with  very  little  differ- 
ence. The  young  men  shot  and  fished;  the 
women  talked  and  worked,  if  they  did  not 
accompany  the  men.  Pierpoint  seemed  to 
be  taking  his  rebuff  quietly.  It  had  sobered 
him  down.  There  was  nothing  of  Lovelace 
or  Don  Juan  Osorio  about  him  now.  He  took 
his  part  quietly,  but  efficiently,  in  the  sporting 
exercise  which  seemed  to  be  our  be-all  there. 
Helena'and  the  old  chief  became  inseparable. 
She  rarely  left  him  for  long,  and  I  think  never 
unless  she  knew  what  he  was  doing  or  how  he 
was  provided  for.  I  had  an  idea  that  he  was 
her  only  justification  for  staying  where  she 
was.  I  thought  that,  like  nearly  all  of  us,  she 
had  juggled  with  her  conscience,  to  keep  it 
quiet.  It  was  as  if  she  said,  "I  am  naturally 
a  pious  and  good  woman,  who  yielding  to 
a  sudden  fire  of  the  mind  have  fallen  into 
wrong-doing.  I  have  put  away  the  wrong 
from  me,  and  out  of  it  there  has  grown  an 
innocent  and  honest  use  to  which  I  can  devote 
what  is  still  innocent  and  honest  in  me.  That 
is  what  I  am  doing  now.  Consider  that, 
Conscience,  and  let  me  alone." 


252  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

But  if  the  chief  was  her  strength,  the  Lord 
knows  she  was  his.  He  overflowed  with  affec- 
tion for  her.  She  was  the  darling  of  his  heart, 
the  joy  and  pride  of  his  eyes.  I  think  it 
would  have  gone  hard  with  him  if  she  had  left 
him  just  then.  He  was  by  no  means  a  wise 
man;  he  was,  in  fact,  a  perfect  child  in  his 
passionate  impulses  and  inconsiderate  acts. 
But  he  had  a  great  heart — and  enshrined  her 
in  the  midst  of  it,  and  turned  all  the  fire  and 
flood  of  it  to  her  honour.  An  odd  result  of 
this  was  that  she  became  unapproachable  by 
all  the  younger  men.  She  was  set  apart,  as  if 
she  was  indeed  their  stepmother.  She  was 
the  centre  of  the  house,  the  primum  mobile. 
It  all  radiated  from  her,  and  all  flowed  back 
to  her  again.  She  wielded  it  unconsciously, 
never  made  a  mistake  and  had  no  enemies. 
If  Inveroran  had  lacked  a  daughter  for  fifteen 
years,  it  took  to  the  having  one  by  instinct 
and  turned  to  Helena  as  a  new-born  child 
turns  to  the  breast. 

Hector  loved  her  romantically,  Wynyard 
hungrily,  Pat  gaily,  frankly  rejoicing  in  her 
beauty,  grace  and  charm.  Pierpoint,  who 
had  conquered  her,  now  that  he  could  not 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  253 

wear  her  in  his  cap,  seemed  not  to  love  her  at 
all.  She  was  quite  at  her  ease  with  him,  lec- 
tured him  about  his  domestic  delinquencies, 
tried  to  get  him  into  activity  again — she 
wanted  him  to  resume  his  soldiering,  recom- 
mended the  Turkish  service,  and  soon;  but 
she  certainly  saw  less  of  him  than  of  the 
others,  and  I  think  that  was  because  he  didn't 
care  to  see  more  of  her.  It  was  more  interest- 
ing to  see  her  with  the  silent,  fierce-hearted 
Wynyard.  Her  power  with  him  was  mar- 
vellous. She  alone  made  him  talk;  she  alone, 
by  a  mere  look  of  those  warm,  grey  eyes  of 
hers,  could  quench  the  angry  gleam  in  his. 
It  must  have  been  hard  work,  continual 
sword-play  on  her  part;  a  ceaseless  watch, 
a  ceaseless  reminder  that  she  was  not  for  him 
and  yet  all  for  him.  She  could  have  loved 
him  as  he  wanted,  I  don't  doubt.  I  don't 
doubt  but  he  knew  that.  But  Wynyard  was 
a  good  fellow,  and  she  was  a  good  woman. 
She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  too — much  more 
beautiful  than  I  remembered  her  when  misery 
and  boredom  had  made  her  haggard.  Her 
short  diet  of  love  had  enriched  her;  as  the 
poet  said,  it  had  "  Softened  the  lines  of  brow 


254  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

and  breast" — but  her  beauty,  soft  and  sumpt- 
uous as  it  was,  was  spiritualized,  too.  No 
Malleson,  at  any  rate,  could  have  hinted  a 
wrong  to  her  now.  For  them  she  was  "en- 
skied  and  sainted" — and  she  had  done  it 
herself.  Let  that  be  remembered  to  her 
credit. 

She  rode  to  the  meeting  beside  Sir  Roderick; 
she  rode  a  milk-white  pony,  and  had  a  dark- 
green  habit,  with  a  blue  scarf  wound  in  and 
about  her  black  hair.  All  the  Mallesons  were 
in  full  war-gear,  of  tartan  and  silver  buttons, 
and  bonnets,  each  with  its  eagle's  feather. 
We  wound  our  way  up  Glen  Oran,  and  then 
over  a  shoulder  of  Ben  Mor,  and  along  another 
by  a  belt  of  pines,  through  which  you  could 
see,  far  below,  a  feeder  of  the  Oran  like  a  silver 
thread.  There  are  still  eagles  to  be  seen  in 
those  empty  fastnesses  of  the  red  deer.  There 
was  one  high  overhead  when  we  came  out  of 
the  wood  and  saw  the  clansmen  clustered  on 
the  brow  of  a  hill  round  about  the  shaft  of 
Broken  Cross.  The  chief,  who  was  very 
superstitious,  threw  up  his  hand  when  he  saw 
the  bird,  and  halted  us  all  to  see  which  way 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  255 

he  would  fly.  He  bore  off  in  great  easy 
circles  to  the  South  by  West,  which  was  on 
our  right  as  we  stood.  When  his  course  was 
certain — after  an  intense  few  minutes  of 
waiting — I  heard  Wynyard  breathe  quickly, 
through  his  nose,  and  Sir  Roderick  say 
"Amen."  He  had  taken  the  right  direction, 
then!  and  we  moved  on.  It  was  pleasant  to 
see  how  gravely  Hector  lent  himself  to  the 
augury,  and  with  what  interest  Helena  herself 
flushed  and  paled  as  she  breathlessly  watched. 

We  were  met  with  a  clamour  of  cheering,  of 
waving  bonnets  and  strange  cries  which  showed 
the  spirit  of  the  gathering.  Men  and  boys  were 
there — few  women,  few  girls.  Fine,  fiery,  enthu- 
siastic faces,  bright  and  keen  blue  eyes.  I  well 
knew  their  merits,  but  had  not  been  prepared 
for  such  ardent  support  of  a  questionable  cause. 

Sir  Roderick  bared  his  head  to  the  cheering, 
but  did  not  dismount.  He  sat  his  pony 
throughout,  and  kept  Helena  by  his  side. 
In  fact,  it  was  Hector  alone  who  took  the 
floor  on  his  own  feet.  He  stood  on  the  mound 
beside  the  broken  shaft,  and  spoke  to  the 
company  in  Gaelic.  So  far  as  I  could  judge 


256  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

— though  I  have  no  idea  what  he  said — he 
spoke  with  perfect  ease.  He  was  certainly  im- 
passioned; he  fetched  up  deep  murmurs  of 
assent  and  at  moments  wild  cries  which 
seemed  to  gratify  the  old  chief.  I  saw  him 
turn  his  eyes  full  of  proud  tears  on  the  beau- 
tiful woman  beside  him,  who  sat  her  horse 
so  well  and  looked  so  calm  and  noble.  At 
the  close,  when  Hector  swept  her  into  his 
speech  with  an  extended  hand,  a  strange 
scene  followed.  They  came  streaming  up  the 
hill  and  held  out  hands,  bonnets,  crooks  and 
staves  to  her.  They  cried  her,  I  believe,  a 
daughter  of  the  Malleson  nation.  As  many  as 
could  reach  shook  her  hand.  And  then  Sir 
Roderick,  swelling  with  pride,  stood  up  in 
his  stirrups  and  shrieked  a  few  well-known 
words.  They  were,  no  doubt,  a  slogan,  or 
war-cry  of  the  clan.  They  were  taken  up 
with  cheer  after  cheer.  The  Mallesons  were 
beset  with  their  kindred.  Hector,  dangerously 
flushed,  quite  out  of  himself — Wynyard  burn- 
ing bright;  Pierpoint  with  his  handsome 
head  once  more  erect  and  moved;  young 
Patrick  wild  as  a  hawk:  they  could  have  had 
an  army  down  the  glen  if  they  had  willed  it, 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  257 

and  cleared  out  the  town.  Luckily  the  von 
Broderode  party  did  not  show  up  that  day,  or 
there  would  have  been  bloodshed.  The  pipers 
struck  up  and  marched  round  and  round  the 
knoll  at  a  quick  step.  We  saw  it  out  to  the  end. 

Going  home,  I  asked  Hector  what  he  had 
0aid  to  them  to  make  them  so  wild.  He 
answered  me  that  it  had  been  nothing  dan- 
gerous. He  had  reminded  them  of  the  Curse 
of  the  Mallesons,  he  said,  and  told  them  how 
it  had  been  removed  by  the  beautiful  lady 
who  had  devoted  herself  to  the  salvation  of 
the  house.  He  asked  them  if  they  would  see 
her  go  back  to  slavery  and  misery;  he  had 
pointed  their  eyes  to  her  tenderness  for  his 
father — he  had  called  on  them  to  testify  to 
their  gratitude.  That  was  all. 

He  hadn't  mentioned  the  Baron  and  his 
friends! 

Pat  said  to  me,  "How  the  old  Baron  would 
have  enjoyed  that!  He  would  have  been 
excited!"  And  then  he  said,  as  if  meditating, 
"I  don't  know — but  I  don't  believe  he's  half 
so  bad  as  Hector  makes  out." 

That  was  and  had  always  been  my  own 
opinion. 
17 


258  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

It  was  expected  that  when  the  Games  were 
held,  as  was  intended,  in  the  Castle  policies, 
there  would  be  some  definite  expression  of  the 
Town's  feeling.  It  was  expected  that  the 
Baron's  friends  would  appear  and  make  a 
demonstration.  I  don't  know  how  the  idea 
arose;  but  it  pervaded  the  Castle  and  the  glens. 
What  actually  happened  was,  in  its  way,  much 
worse  for  the  Trojans — I  mean  for  the  Castle. 

The  Clan  turned  out  in  force,  as  you  might 
expect — though  the  absence  of  its  women  was 
remarkable.  The  Castle  was  there,  of  course; 
but  Helena  was  not.  None  of  our  ladies  went, 
in  fact. 

I  have  a  suspicion  that  the  chief  was  hurt 
by  that.  He  had  got  it  firmly  fixed  in  his  old 
headpiece  that  we  were  the  injured  party,  and 
was  dreadfully  apt  to  look  upon  that  as  dis- 
loyalty which  was  only  common  reticence  and 
decency.  As  Pat  said,  "The  pater  pinches 
himself  in  the  door  and  thinks  you  an  enemy 
in  disguise  because  you  don't  go  about  in  a 
finger-stall!"  I  knew  afterwards,  as  a  matter 
af  fact,  that  they  did  witness  our  revels  from 
the  bank  of  the  river,  where  they  were  not 
conspicuous  to  the  revellers. 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  259 

We  revelled  in  the  customary  manner,  with- 
out the  gaiety  of  the  customary  meetings.  It 
was  less  like  an  athletic  gathering,  and  much 
more  Homeric  in  consequence.  Pierpoint 
recovered  some  of  his  old  prestige  by  winning 
the  hill-climbing  contest  in  great  style.  Wyn- 
yard  tossed  the  caber  and  no  one  could  come 
near  him.  The  rest  of  the  competitions  were 
wisely  allowed  to  the  clansmen.  In  the  midst 
of  the  broadsword  heats  I  saw  the  public 
attention  distracted,  and  looked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  nearly  all  eyes  but  mine.  The  Baron 
von  Broderode,  upon  a  pony — quite  unat- 
tended— entered  the  grounds,  and  surveyed 
us  all  from  a  small  eminence.  You  never 
saw  such  an  effect  as  this  produced.  An 
electric  thrill  seemed  to  pass  from  body  to 
body.  Sir  Roderick  literally  bristled.  Hector 
stiffened  and  stared  at  something  else.  The 
contestants  hacked  away  for  dear  life,  and, 
like  everybody  else,  pretended  that  they  were 
interested  in  what  they  were  doing.  Pat  and 
I  were  sitting  together  on  a  heather  bed, 
and  watched  what  happened.  We  were  both 
the  least  bit  out  of  touch  with  the  meeting 
because  of  our  Baronial  sympathies.  Not 


260  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

that  we  didn't  adore  Helena  with  every- 
body else;  but,  as  Pat  said,  we  could  adore 
just  as  much  if  the  Baron  was  in  the  house 
with  her. 

He  was  in  no  condition  to  be  on  horseback. 
He  poked  his  head,  he  swayed  about.  His 
eyes  were  fixed.  He  was  engaged  in  a  frightful 
struggle  to  be  at  ease.  All  at  once  the  pony 
stumbled,  and  he  was  off.  Pat  and  I  raced 
to  him,  and  lifted  him.  He  was  out  of  breath 
but  not  at  all  scared.  "Brave  fellows,  brave 
fellows!"  he  said.  "Lift  me.  I  will  go  back 
as  I  came.  I  am  not  at  all  hurt.  It  is  a  rule 
of  the  game  that  you  go  on — ha?  Lift  me  to 
his  back." 

Well,  we  did.  The  meeting  paused  in  its 
breath  to  watch  us.  We  got  him  back, 
though  he  was  like  lead  to  lift.  Directly  he 
was  there,  he  was  all  there.  His  eyes  laughed 
at  us — merry,  saucy,  bold  and  unconquerable. 
"If  all  the  English  were  like  you,"  he  said, 
"the  Austrians  would  never  touch  you.  Have 
no  fear  at  all." 

Pat  said  that  was  all  right.  And  was  he 
hurt? 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  said.     "It  is  a 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  261 

rule  of  the  game."  I  don't  know  what  he 
meant  by  that. 

"Would  you  like  us  to  go  back  with  you?" 
we  asked  him. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  stay  here" — He  was 
very  quick  to  notice  things.  He  saw  my  face 
fall — "unless  you  wish  me  to  go?" 

I  said,  "Oh,  I  think  you  might  go  in  this 
instance."  He  laughed  outright. 

"That  is  all  I  want.  Yes,  yes.  I  will  go. 
What  you  say,  I  will  be  clear."  He  wouldn't 
let  us  go  down  with  him — no,  no,  all  went  all. 
Never  better.  He  waved  his  hand,  and  turned 
the  pony's  head. 

We  watched  him  go.  "By  Jove,"  Pat  said, 
"he'll  beat  us.  He's  a  Roman  soldier." 

What  interested  me  was  the  flutter  of  dis- 
tress from  the  bank.  Helena  in  her  white 
dress  and  black  sash, signalling  with  a  handker- 
chief— like  Isolda.  I  went  to  her.  She  was 
in  a  beautiful  agony. 

'Tell  me,  tell  me.  It  is  well?"  She  never 
named  him  if  she  could  help  it. 

"Yes,"  I  said.  "He  won't  be  helped.  He's 
as  brave  as  he  can  be." 


262  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

She  was  half  sobbing — "Oh,  I  know,  I 
know!  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  Was — did  you 
see  Teresa?" 

I  said  that  there  was  no  Teresa — but  that 
she  was  probably  hovering  somewhere. 

Then  she  said,  "You  must  go  and  enquire 
— soon — soon.  Promise  me  you  will  go." 

I  said,  "Will  you  come  with  me?" 

She  stopped.  She  looked  down,  blushing. 
I  do  believe  she  wanted  to  go.  "No,"  she 
said,  "I  cannot  go  now.  I  must  ask  Sir 
Roderick.  He  might  be  angry  with  me." 

I  said,  "Oh,  he  would—  '  then  I  promised 
that  I  would  go,  and  left  her.  She  dried  her 
eyes  and  turned  to  join  the  other  ladies.  Old 
Laura  Bacchus  lost  none  of  the  play.  I  saw 
Sir  Roderick  trotting  over  the  sward  to  be 
with  her.  It  was  pretty  to  see  her  upturned 
face,  and  his  down-turned.  He  patted  her 
cheek,  and  she  stood  by  his  knee  meekly  to 
watch  the  games. 

I  judged  my  time,  and  when  they  were 
busy  over  the  prize-giving,  which  Helena 
began  to  do  very  charmingly  under  the  chief's 
approving  gaze,  I  went  down  into  the  town. 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  263 

A  few  curious  looks  were  cast  at  me,  but  of 
course  I  was,  comparatively  speaking,  a 
stranger  in  Inveroran.  Intercourse  with  the 
town  had  never  been  the  thing  for  the  Castle 
people.  The  painting  at  Rosemount  seemed 
to  be  finished,  but  no  furnishing  had  been  as 
yet  attempted.  I  went  into  the  Marine 
Hotel  and  asked  for  the  Baron.  A  page-boy 
tiptoed  away,  as  if  we  were  going  to  be  shown 
the  San  Graal,  and  I  followed.  He  was 
bestowed  on  the  ground  floor,  I  noticed.  We 
passed  his  bath-chair  in  the  passage. 

I  found  him  in  a  window  of  ample  bows,  a 
window  which  gave  on  to  the  garden  and  a 
flagstaff,  dressed  for  dinner  and  in  the  com- 
pany of  his  friends.  He  received  me  with  a 
cheer.  "Ah,  brava,  brava!"  he  said.  "Here 
we  hef  another  Ambassador  from  the  proud 
enemy."  He  laughed  away  any  possible 
enmity  there  might  be  in  his  words.  The 
room  was  full  of  cigar-smoke,  bottles  of 
Rhenish  were  on  the  table,  long  glasses, 
syphons  and  all  such  gear.  He  introduced 
me  to  his  friends  in  great  style. 

"  Become  acquainted,  if  you  please,  with  my 
good  friend  Count  Szombor  Jelacics,  and  my 


264  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

trusty  and  well-beloved  cousin  and  councillor 
the  Freiherr  von  Ostensee — "  and  then  he 
rang  out  my  name. 

The  tall  and  cavernous-eyed  young  man, 
the  short  and  round-faced  and  very  pink-and- 
flaxen  young  man  bowed  from  the  hips.  But 
the  Baron  went  on — "And  permit  me  to 
introduce  to  you  also  my  young  and  sympa- 
thetic friend,  Mr.  Patrick  Malleson."  He 
rolled  out  this  name  with  a  mighty  gusto — 
and  then  I  saw  Master  Pat's  grin  hover 
through  the  murky  air. 

"Don't  play  the  Cheshire  Cat  at  me, 
man,"  I  said.  "I  didn't  guess  you  were 
here." 

The  Baron  stretched  out  a  benevolent  hand 
and  took  Pat's  arm.  "He  came  because  he 
was  a  good  fellow,"  he  said.  "He  knows 
that  I  am  not  a  bad  one.  And  you  also" — 
this  to  me— "I  will  be  glad  of,  if  you  will 
allow  me.  Now  you  will  smoke  with  us? 
You  will  drink  with  us?  Pray  help  yourself. 
My  friend  Patrick  has  the  strong  waters  of 
his  country.  You  will  have  the  same?  Very 
good — as  you  please.  But  if  I  were  to  drink 
that  whisky  of  yours,  in  two  weeks  I  should 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  265 

be  dead,  and  the  flag  at  Rosemount  halfway 
down  the  pole." 

In  this  way  he  began,  and  continued  to 
rattle  on,  drinking  in  volumes  of  cigar-smoke 
with  the  deepest  contentment.  You  would 
have  said  that  he  hadn't  a  care  in  the  world. 
I  was,  myself,  in  a  conflict  all  the  time,  of 
admiration  and  pity;  for  it  was  impossible 
not  to  see  the  ravages  which  illness  had  made 
upon  him.  He  was  yielding,  he  was  bound  to 
yield;  but  he  fought  every  inch  of  the  way. 
It  would  kill  him — but  all  his  wounds  would 
be  in  front. 

While  Pat  was  explaining  with  infinite 
patience  and  lost  effort  the  merits  of  the  game 
of  golf  to  the  Freiherr  von  Ostensee — who 
received  them  with  a  deferential  scepticism 
delightful  to  witness,  I  took  the  opportunity 
to  say  to  von  Broderode  that  I  was  indeed  an 
ambassador,  as  he  had  suggested  at  a  venture. 
He  heard  me  with  raised  eyebrows  and  twink- 
ling eyes.  He  heard  me,  he  nodded  his  head 
many  times,  and  ended  with  a  great  shrug. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said  at  last,  "if  I  do  not 
undertsand  women,  be  sure  of  one  of  two 
things:  either  I  am  the  greatest  fool  in  the 


266  TOE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

world,  or  nobody  understands  them.  Not 
only  do  I  accept  your  word — that  is  of  course 
— but  I  am  prepared  to  understand  your  word. 
When  women  act  from  the  heart  they  never 
go  wrong.  When  they  act  from  the  head  they 
always  do,  because  they  think  of  so  many 
things  at  once.  Now  men — and  you  will 
allow  me  to  call  myself  a  man — think  of  only 
one  thing  at  a  time.  And  they  think  with 
head  and  heart  together.  And  they  have  a 
will-power  which  is  the  servant  of  both.  Not 
so  with  women.  Their  will-power  is  only  at 
the  service  of  the  heart.  Unless  they  are  mad! 
And  my  wife  is  not  mad.  Not  at  all — not  at 
all.  She  is  a  woman  through  and  through." 

I  thought  that  he  was  right,  though  I  said 
nothing.  He  ended  up  in  this  fashion,  and 
with  a  request: 

"Your  friend  Hector  is  a  dangerous  man, 
because  he  is  a  man-and-woman.  It  is  so. 
He  is  hermaphrodite.  With  the  heart  of  a 
woman  and  the  brain  of  a  man,  he  has  the 
will-power  added,  of  a  man-woman.  His 
will-power  is  at  service  of  heart  or  brain.  He 
puts  it  here  to  the  work  of  both.  He  will  fail 
— but  he  does  not  know  it.  He  does  not 


THE  BATTLE  SWAYS  267 

intend  to  fail.  Now  do  me  the  kindness  to 
bring  him  here.  To-morrow  my  friends  will 
be  gone.  There  is  nothing  for  them  to  do 
here.  I  do  not  need  them.  I  am  sufficient. 
They  are  good  fellows — I  like  them;  but 
they  want  to  fight  with  your  men — and  that 
is  absurd.  Your  red  Wynyard  would  smash 
them  both  like  oxen.  And  then  he  would  be 
transported  or  hanged.  What  good  is  that 
to  me?  No!  I  send  them  away  to-morrow 
in  the  Coryphceus,  and  I  stay  here  for  Rose- 
mount  to  be  ready.  Already  the  furniture  is 
on  the  way.  In  a  week,  two  weeks,  I  shall  be 
happy  to  see  you  there.  We  will  play  piquet 
together — and  talk  of  politics  and  history. 
But  bring  the  hermaphrodite,  the  dangerous 
man.  Oblige  me." 

I  got  up  and  shook  hands.  Pat  came  with 
me.  As  we  went  up  the  hill  he  said,  "We 
shall  be  called  traitors.  The  pater  will  be 
very  sick." 

"I  was  sent  down,"  I  told  him.  He  looked 
grave. 

"Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?  I  suspected  as  much." 
Then  he  said  "Poor  old  pater!" 


XIX 

THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR 

WE  were  late  home,  with  barely  time  to 
dress;  but  she  lay  in  wait  for  me  and  caught 
me  just  as  I  was  about  to  clear  the  steps- 
She  came  out  of  the  little  ante-room,  dressed 
in  gauzy  black — which  made  her  look  her 
favourite  part  of  the  moon  clear  of  clouds. 
A  soft  and  yet  keen  persistence  in  her  manner 
heightened  the  comparison.  She  was  remote, 
she  was  cold;  yet  she  was  searching. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "so  you  went  down? 
And  what  do  you  bring  back?" 

"He  was  glad  to  see  me.  He  called  me 
Ambassador — Ambassador  from  the  proud 
enemy." 

Her  eyes  fell.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  at 
her  own  fairness.  "  I  am  not  proud, "  she  said. 

"You  would  have  excuse  if  you  were," 
I  said.  She  looked  out  into  the  dusk. 

"I  am  not  at  all  proud.  I  am  very  much 
distracted. " 

"The  Baron  wants  to  see  Hector,"  I  told 

her. 

268 


THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR         269 

She  opened  her  eyes.  "Hector?  Why 
Hector?" 

I  said,  "Well,  Hector  is  not  head  of  the 
house,  of  course;  but  I  suppose  he  could 
not  expect  the  chief  to  go." 

She  shivered.  "Oh,  no.  Sir  Roderick 
would  not  go." 

I  said,  "Will  you  ask  Hector  to  go?" 
She  thought  that  over. 

Presently  she  said,  "No — I  cannot.  Shall 
you  ask  him?" 

"Do  you  mean  'Will  I  ask  him?'" 

"I  wondered  whether  you  would.  I  won- 
dered what  you  thought,"  she  said,  avoiding 
my  question. 

I  said,  "I'll  ask  him,  if  you  wish  it?" 

Her  words  almost  caressed  me.  "  I  think  you 
know  best.  I  think  you  will  do  what  is  best. " 

I  excused  myself  then.  "I  really  must 
go  and  dress.  I'm  in  hot  water  as  it  is,  I 
don't  doubt.  If  I'm  late  as  well  as  a  traitor, 
I  shall  be  boiled  before  I've  done. " 

She  said  gently, "  You  are  not  a  traitor.  You 
are  kind.  You  wish  to  do  the  best  thing." 

"So  do  you,"  I  said.  "I  know  it."  Her  eyes 
appealed;  a  sad  smile  faltered  about  her  parted 


270  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

lips.    It  was  like  sunshine  in  late  autumn,  pale 
and  flickering,  soon  gone.    And  then  I  left  her. 

Sir  Roderick  made  no  inquiries  after  his 
enemy;  but  Wynyard  asked  me  how  he  was. 

"I'm  glad  you  went,"  he  said,  when  I  had 
told  him  about  the  Baron's  gallantry.  "I 
should  have  gone  myself  if  you  hadn't." 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't,"  I  said.  "He  has 
a  hairy  friend  who  wants  to  fight  you." 

Wynyard  said,  "That's  rot,  of  course." 

"No,  "I  said,  "he  means  it." 

Wynyard  said,  He  had  better  wait  till  there 
was  something  to  fight  about,  because  when 
that  occurred  there  would  be  nobody  here  to 
fight  with.  That  was  the  nearest  Wynyard  ever 
went  to  admitting  that  it  would  be  good  to  run 
away  with  Helena.  I  am  sure  that  he  had 
never  hinted  at  such  a  thing  to  herself.  But  I 
daresay  that  she  knew  all  about  it,  all  the  same. 

Hector  agreed  to  see  the  Baron.  He  made 
no  difficulty  about  it.  "I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing to  see  him,  but  I  hope  he  understands 
that  I  don't  desire  it.  I  shan't  conceal  my 
opinion  of  his  conduct,  of  course. " 

"I  expect  that  he  has  his  own  ideas  about 


THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR         271 

that,"  I  said,  "and  honestly,  my  dear  chap, 
you'll  find  him  a  hard  nut  to  crack." 

He  gloomily  accepted  that. 

I  thought  I  had  better  say  one  thing  more. 
"His  case  is  that,  between  you,  you  have 
induced  his  wife  to  desert  him.  His  strong 
impression  is  that  it  was  you  who  did  it. " 

"He's  wrong,"  Hector  said.  "I  am  very 
glad  that  she  did  it,  but  it  wasn't  my  doing. " 

"My  dear  man!"  I  said.  "You  fell  in  love 
with  her  at  Gironeggio." 

"I  did.     Immediately." 

"And  she  knew  that." 

"Probably." 

"That  made  her  dissatisfied  with  her  lot." 

"Good  Heavens!"  said  Hector,  "If  it 
did  that  it  was  worth  it." 

"Then  she  came  here,  and  you  all  fell  in 
love  with  her. " 

"Well?" 

"Then  you  brought  her  back  here." 

"Well?" 

"That's  the  Baron's  case,"  I  said. 

He  replied  stiffly  to  that,  that  the  Baron 
had  a  good  advocate.  I  was  unable  to  deny 
that  I  was,  at  the  moment,  very  much  on  his 


272  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

side — though  when  we  went  after  the  others 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  I  saw  her  the 
centre  of  a  pretty  group  about  the  fire,  I 
confess  that  my  heart  was  open  to  the  pity 
of  it.  They  were  so  unfeignedly  happy,  there 
was  such  a  cosy  look  about  them.  Here  was 
the  very  emblem  of  home.  Old  Sir  Roderick 
sat  in  his  elbow-chair,  his  first  supporting  his 
head.  The  other  hand  was  on  Helena's  hair. 
She  sat  on  a  stool  below  him  and  was  reading 
to  him  in  a  low  voice.  Near  her  Pat  lay 
back  in  an  easy-chair.  His  hands  were  clasped 
behind  his  head,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
ceiling.  He  made  a  long  straight  line  from 
his  chin  to  his  toes.  He  listened,  he  smiled. 
Pierpoint  was  watching  her  from  the  other 
corner.  Wynyard,  as  usual,  stood  to  listen. 
He  was  like  the  sentinel  flamingo,  watchful, 
on  one  leg,  while  the  others  feed  on  the  sea- 
flats.  Miss  Bacchus  was  playing  patience  by 
herself,  but  with  a  caustic  comment  now  and 
then  for  what  she  overheard.  "Silly  ass! 
What  on  earth  did  he  do  that  for?"  I  heard 
as  I  shut  the  door.  The  book  was  "The 
Earthly  Paradise,"  and  the  tale  concerned 
Gudrun  and  her  criss-cross  love-affairs.  It 


THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR         273 

was  a  pretty  group,  and  as  snug  as  Christmas. 
I  thought  of  the  Baron,  with  his  liqueur  and 
his  cigar,  his  avid,  wayward  hands  and  his 
daring  blue  eyes.  I  thought  of  her  alone 
with  him,  without  an  intimate  word  to  say. 
I  saw  what  Hector  had  seen  at  once  with  his 
diviner's  eye  and  his  tentacles  at  work.  I 
said  to  myself.  "You  pretty,  gentle  creature, 
what  mercy  did  they  show  you  who  taught 
you  their  comforts?"  And  at  the  moment 
I  felt  that  if  anything  could  be  done  to  save 
her  from  her  portion  I  could  do  it. 

Hector  and  I  went  down  to  see  the  Baron. 
It  was  a  fine  afternoon,  and  he  received  us 
in  the  garden  of  the  hotel.  The  moment 
we  appeared  he  waved  his  hand  to  me.  Then 
he  took  off  his  Homburg  hat.  That  was  for 
Hector's  benefit.  He  did  not  offer  to  shake 
hands;  but  that  was  the  only  sign  of  enmity 
he  showed.  Hector  was  very  stiff  and  solemn, 
which  I  thought  was  a  pity.  The  Baron 
was  perfectly  at  ease. 

He  began:  "I  have  wished  to  see  you 
because  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I 
should  have  written  to  you  myself;  I  should 

18 


274  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

have  said,  My  dear  sir,  come  and  see  me! 
We  will  have  a  few  words  together  in  private. 
It  would  have  been  better  in  private — what 
I  have  to  say.  For  me,  I  don't  mind;  but 
for  you  it  would  be  better 

"But  you  would  not  have  come.  You 
have  your  own  idea  of  me.  You  think  I 
am  a  savage.  You  think  I  tear  and  mangle. 
You  would  say  to  yourself,  I  will  have  no 
dealings  with  the  wicked.  So  you  shall  hear 
what  I  have  to  say  in  the  presence  of  your 
friend.  .  .  . 

"It  is  not  the  first  time  that  your  nation 
goes  to  work  teaching  people  their  own  busi- 
ness. You  see  me  at  Gironeggio.  You  say, 
Here  is  a  wicked  man.  His  hand  shakes; 
he  is  not  like  me.  He  smokes  many  cigars; 
I  don't  like  cigars.  He  enjoys  himself:  that 
is  bad.  You  see  my  wife;  you  like  her. 
You  say,  She  is  a  beautiful  woman.  I  could 
make  her  happy — she  would  be  happy  with 
me.  To  see  her  with  that  old  savage  makes 
me  unhappy.  Therefore,  you  say,  it  makes 
her  also  unhappy.  Then  you  make  her 
acquaintance  and  you  tell  her  how  unhappy 
she  is.  That  is  why  I  call  you  the  dangerous 


THE  AMAZEMENT  OF  HECTOR         275 

man.  You  are  dangerous  because  you  see 
what  you  think  you  see,  and  you  teach  other 
people  your  disastrous  wisdom!  .  .  . 

"You  see  only  yourself,  my  dear  sir.  That 
is  your  little  mistake.  In  my  wife  you  see 
yourself  unhappy.  In  myself  you  see  yourself 
a  fool.  You  think  me  a  fool,  but  I  am  not 
at  all  a  fool.  I  am  a  sensible  man  because 
I  know  what  I  want. " 

He  sat  there  rosy  and  twinkling,  a  spectacle 
of  weather-worn  strength,  his  terrible  hands 
flickering  as  he  held  cigar  and  match.  He 
bent  his  head  forward  and  looked  out  over 
his  gold-rimmed  glasses,  as  he  said  these 
words:  "I  shall  win  in  the  end,  you  will  see, 
because  I  have  nothing  else  to  do.  I  shall 
get  what  I  want.  It  is  my  career.  I  am  not 
likely  to  make  a  mess  of  that.  You  have 
youth  and  good  health  and  your  family  behind 
you  to  make  you  strong.  But  I,  my  good 
sir,  have  ennui.  I  must  beat  that  or  it  will 
kill  me.  And  I  do  not  intend  to  die.  Do 
you  not  see  that?" 

I  knew  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  To  my 
mind  he  was  unanswerable,  and  it  it  the  fact 
that  Hector  had  no  answer  for  him.  He  sat  stiff 


276  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

in  his  chair  for  a  little  time.    Then  he  got  up, 
murmured  a  few  inaudible  words,  and  went  out. 
There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  follow 
him. 

He  was  silent  for  the  length  of  our  walk 
up  the  main  street.  When  we  got  within 
sight  of  the  gate's  he  stopped. 

He  lifted  his  head.  "I  shall  fight  him." 
he  said.  "If  I  die  for  it  I'll  fight  him.  For 
it  comes  to  this,  that  a  man  can  possess  a 
woman's  body  and  soul  if  he  is  only  cruel 
enough.  If  I  took  Helena  away  and  made 
myself  master  of  her  I  should  beat  him.  It 
is  because  I  will  not  degrade  her  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world  that  he  beats  me.  But  he  shall 
not.  I'll  fight  him  for  her." 

I  saw  that  he  was  very  much  moved,  and 
did  not  care  to  argue  with  him.  What  I  did 
say  was  that  the  thing  ought  to  be  put  squarely 
before  her.  It  was  a  case  for  a  woman,  I 
said.  Let  Laura  Bacchus  have  it  out  with 
her.  Put  her  to  work.  He  pished,  and  said, 
"Damn  Laura  Bacchus." 

But  I  was  nearly  right.  It  was  a  case  for 
a  woman;  but  Laura  Bacchus  was  not  she. 


XX 

PIERPOINT 

I  HAD  had  my  eye  on  Pierpoint  for  some  time. 
Love  was  awake  and  walking  in  his  breast 
again.  He  was  like  Hector  in  that,  that  he 
was  always  in  love  with  somebody;  but  unlike 
him  in  that  his  love  couldn't  live  on  air.  He 
must  reassure  himself  with  testimonies;  he 
must  wear  a  gage. 

I  watched  him,  not  without  amusement,  to 
see  how  wary  he  was.  He  had  need  to  be, 
for  Wynyard  was  mortally  jealous  of  him. 
Those  two  never  spoke  to  each  other  by  any 
chance.  At  the  best  of  times  they  had  had 
little  to  say  to  each  other;  but  since  Helena 
had  been  here  the  same  room  could  hardly 
contain  them. 

There  were  few,  if  any,  overt  acts.  I  guessed 
at  what  was  going  on  by  the  recrudescence  of 
the  conquering  hero  about  Pierpoint.  His 
moustaches  took  an  upward  twist;  his  clothes 
were  more  soignes,  his  neckties,  the  tops  of 

his  stockings  were  more  carefully  contrasted. 

277 


278  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  talked  to  Helena  again — upon  carefully 
impersonal  topics,  but  if  you  were  interested 
enough  to  be  careful  you  could  detect  a 
stream  of  tendency,  an  implication.  Some- 
times there  was  a  complete  double  sense  to 
what  he  said,  to  which,  when  once  you  got  a 
clue,  you  must  needs  devote  yourself  body 
and  soul.  And  he  did  it  pretty  well.  I  fancy 
he  was  enormously  pleased  with  himself.  He 
flattered  himself  that  Helena  was  completely 
instructed,  and  Wynyard  completely  in  the 
dark;  whereas  I  am  sure  that  it  was  just  the 
other  way.  Helena  was  a  fairly  simple  char- 
acter— as  simple  as  a  thoroughly  pretty  and 
thoroughly  petted  woman  can  be.  She  was, 
of  course,  petted  all  round,  and  she  loved  it; 
but  she  took  it  quite  innocently.  I  don't 
believe  she  wanted  to  marry  any  of  those 
chaps,  though  at  the  same  time  I  believe  that 
she  would  have  married  any  one  of  them  who 
asked  her — except  Hector.  She  was  rather 
afraid  of  Hector.  His  ideas  of  love  were  too 
fearful  and  wonderful  for  her.  While  they 
were  new  they  would  have  depressed  her, 
when  they  were  familiar  they  would  have 
bored  her.  I  think  she  saw  all  that  from  the 


PIERPOINT  279 

beginning.  But  any  one  of  the  others  would 
have  done.  She  didn't  want  anything  of  a 
husband  but  petting;  and  as  she  was  being 
petted  to  her  heart's  content  at  this  time  she 
didn't  want  a  husband  at  all. 

But  Wynyard  was  altogether  different.  He 
wanted  her  dreadfully.  This  need  had 
changed  the  whole  habit  of  the  man.  It  had 
made  him  morbidly  suspicious,  morbidly 
acute.  His  passion  was  driven  inwards,  it 
had  to  feed  upon  his  own  vital  juices.  He 
had  never  been  a  communicative  man.  He 
was  only  really  open  with  his  dog,  and  with 
the  wild  creatures  which  he  pursued  so  re- 
morselessly and  killed  with  such  art.  I  could 
very  well  imagine  him  telling  the  spirits  of 
the  wind  and  the  rain  of  his  hopeless  trouble 
and  his  infinite  desires.  They  were  infinite 
because  Helena  could  never  have  given  him 
all  he  wanted;  they  were  hopeless  because 
he  knew  it.  But  she  drew  him  in  and  in,  he 
flickered  and  flacked  about  her  pale  flame. 
He  was  scorched  and  maimed  but  he  stayed  on. 
The  one  immediate  resource  he  had — and  that 
was  a  savage  one — was  in  watching  his  brother 
Pierpoint.  He  hated  him;  and  Pierpoint 


280  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

seemed  to  know  it  and  to  snatch  a  fearful  joy 
in  outwatching  and  outmarching  him. 

Laura  Bacchus  was  convinced  that  there 
would  be  bloodshed.  She  said  that  she  couldn't 
rest  in  her  bed  until  she  knew  that  these 
two  were  safely  in  theirs.  Almost  every  night, 
she  told  me,  she  crept  out  into  the  corridor, 
flitted  along  it  and  stole  upstairs  to  the  next — 
to  listen.  She  used  to  carry  her  candle,  and 
when  it  showed  up  Vixen's  green  eyes,  she 
knew  the  bitch  was  on  her  master's  door- 
mat, and  that  all  was  well.  That's  what  she 
told  me,  after  the  event.  For  there  was  an 
event,  and  it  came  suddenly,  and  soon. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  a  week,  or 
more,  or  less,  after  Hector's  and  my  visit  to 
the  Baron.  More  than  a  week,  I  think, 
because  Rosemount  was  furnished,  and  the 
Baron  installed  when  next  we  saw  him.  He 
had  been  at  one  of  his  bow  windows,  and 
waved  his  cigar-hand  to  us  as  we  passed. 
Some  people  had  come  to  stay  at  the  Castle 
—Mrs.  Muir  and  her  two  girls,  Elspeth  and 
Grizel,  were  there  on  their  way  further  North; 
and  a  young  friend  of  Pat's,  a  nice  boy  called 


PIERPOINT  281 

Chesilworth.  They  were  very  good  for  us, 
made  us  brisker,  and  gave  the  servants  more 
to  do.  We  used  to  dance  in  the  evenings,  and 
this  gave  Pierpoint  his  chance,  and  made 
Hector  sad,  and  Wynyard  furious.  Neither 
of  those  two  were  dancers. 

Pierpoint,  having  done  his  duty  by  the  Muir 
girls — with  a  dance  apiece — spent,  and  pro- 
posed to  go  on  spending,  the  rest  of  this 
opportunity  with  Helena.  He  was  a  wonder- 
ful dancer,  and  naturally  she  liked  it.  The 
first  night  Wynyard  stood  it;  the  second 
night  he  got  through  a  bit  of  it,  but  then 
disappeared,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  was. 
The  third  night  there  was  no  dancing  at  the 
house,  because  we  all  went  down  to  dine 
upon  a  cruiser  that  had  come  into  the  bay. 
We  dined  and  danced  there,  and  Wynyard 
could  stand  that  because  Pierpoint  was  one 
of  many,  and  of  very  little  account  at  that. 
Helena,  with  a  capricious  twist  to  her  head, 
chose  to  dance  hardly  at  all  that  night.  She 
stood  mostly  by  the  chief,  and  danced  square 
dances  with  the  Captain  and  the  Commander. 
Indeed,  poor  Wynyard  got  a  bit  of  an  innings, 
for  one  of  the  lieutenants  was  a  friend  of  his, 


282  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

and  was  presented  by  him  to  Helena.  The 
three  of  them  sat  out  for  a  dance  or  two, 
which  must  have  been  very  jolly  for  the  lieu- 
tenant, I  should  say.  However,  he  was  a  good 
sort. 

The  next  night  there  was  trouble.  Pierpoint 
himself  urged  for  dancing,  and  got  it.  This 
time  Wynyard  went  out  on  to  the  terrace  and 
padded  up  and  down  like  a  native  with  the 
toothache.  After  a  time  I  joined  him  and  we 
paced  up  and  down  together  under  the  stars 
of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  September  nights 
I  ever  remember. 

I  don't  know  how  long  we  had  been  there 
when  we  saw  a  white  dress  glimmering  away 
from  us.  I  didn't  need  the  quick  short  gasp 
from  Wynyard  to  know  who  it  was.  It  was 
Helena,  of  course.  She  had  slipped  out 
through  the  little  side  door  which  gives  from 
the  ante-room  on  to  the  terrace.  She  was 
alone,  as  we  saw;  but  she  was  not  to  be  alone 
for  long.  Wynyard  left  me  to  go  after  her, 
and  had  just  reached  the  door  from  which 
she  had  come  when  that  opened  again  and 
Pierpoint  blundered  out  almost  upon  his 
brother. 


PIERPOINT  283 

Wynyard  turned,  and  they  stood  facing 
each  other.  Neither  of  them  spoke  for  quite 
a  perceptible  time. 

Then  Pierpoint  said  "Where's  Helena?" 

Wynyard — I  could  hear  his  pumps  at  work 
— answered,  "She's  in  the  garden." 

"Oh,"  said  Pierpoint,  "that's  all  right," 
and  made  a  move. 

Wynyard  said,  "Stay  where  you  are." 

Pierpoint  had  no  answer  at  the  moment; 
then  said  breathlessly,  "What  on  earth  do  you 
mean  ? " 

"What  I  say,"  Wynyard  replied.  "You 
will  stay  where  you  are,  or  go  in." 

"  It's  not  for  you  to  tell  me  where  I'm  to  go. " 

"In  this  case  it  is." 

A  third  figure  came  to  the  door  and  stood 
in  the  light  of  it.  It  was  Ethel  Cook,  with  a 
silvery  cloak  for  Helena. 

"Go  back  with  your  wife,  you  dog,"  said 
Wynyard;  and  left  him  facing  the  girl. 

She  shuddered  and  shrank  against  the  door 
as  if  someone  was  going  to  hit  her.  I  saw  her 
mouth  open.  Her  eyes  were  hidden  in  the 
shadow  of  their  own  brows.  "I  never  told 
him — I  swear  I  didn't,"  she  said  in  short 


284  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

gasping  breaths.  But  he  left  her  and  walked 
past  me  to  the  other  side  of  the  house.  She 
stood  looking  out  into  the  dark.  Her  mouth 
was  still  open.  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
faint,  and  went  to  her. 

"Ethel,"  I  said,  "I  heard  all  this,  and  am 
awfully  sorry  for  you." 

She  was  struggling  with  her  tears.  "I 
didn't  tell  him — I  never  told  a  soul,"  was  all 
she  could  say. 

"No,  no,"  I  said.  "I'm  sure  you  didn't. 
Nobody  thinks  you  have  done  anything 
wrong.  Nobody  who  knows  you  would 
think  so." 

She  had  now  covered  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  was  crying.  "He  made  me  do  it — 
because  I  wouldn't — because  I  couldn't " 

"Don't  tell  me,"  I  said.  "I  don't  want  to 
know.  But  if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll  tell 
the  Baroness.  That  will  be  the  best  thing  in 
the  world."  She  listened,  though  she  went 
on  crying.  I  went  at  her  again. 

"The  Baroness  is  very  fond  of  you.  She 
knows  what  you  are  thought  about  up  here. 
She  has  troubles  of  her  own,  as  you  and  I 
know.  Well,  if  you  tell  her  your  story,  you'll 


PIERPOINT  285 

help  her  as  much  as  she'll  help  you.  So  do  you 
take  my  advice,  and  when  she  goes  upstairs, 
tell  her  all  about  it.  You  needn't  be  afraid 
of  Mr.  Wynyard.  He  won't  tell  her.  I'll 
answer  for  that. " 

She  had  stopped  crying.  She  was  thinking. 
Then  she  said,  "  I  never  told  anybody  because 
I  didn't  want  to  make  mischief.  I'd  have  put 
up  with  almost  anything.  I  have  put  up 
with  a  good  deal — but  I  couldn't  hurt  Sir 
Roderick — not  if  I  was  driven  out." 

"You  won't  hurt  Sir  Roderick  by  telling 
the  Baroness.  I  promise  you  that, "  I  said. 

"No,"  said  Ethel.  I  know  that.  He'll 
take  almost  anything  from  her."  I  could 
see  that  she  was  convinced.  Presently  she 
thanked  me  and  said  so. 

"It's  bound  to  come  out  now,"  she  said, 
"whatever  I  do.  And  I'd  rather  tell  her 
myself  than  have  anybody  tell  against  me." 
Then  she  thanked  me  and  went  away.  Helena 
had  no  cloak  that  night,  and  no  cavalier. 

I  went  into  the  smoking-room  and  got  my- 
self a  whisky-and-soda.  The  two  boys  came 
in,  Wynyard  and  Hector  together,  then  Sir 
Roderick  for  his  customary  dram  and  a  pipe. 


286  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

I  had  plenty  to  think  about,  and  as  there 
were  plenty  of  them,  I  had  no  need  to  talk. 
I  don't  think  that  I  was  astonished  at  what 
I  had  heard,  because  Pierpoint  was  Pierpoint. 
He  wasn't  the  sort,  to  stick  at  a  wedding  if  he 
couldn't  get  what  he  wanted  any  other  way. 
And  he  would  always  think  that  he  would 
never  want  to  do  it  again.  With  your  genuine 
amorist  every  affair  is  for  good  and  all.  And, 
as  he  figured  it  all  out,  I've  no  doubt  he 
thought  a  secret  marriage,  with  stolen  meet- 
ings, stolen  confidences,  stolen  pledges  of 
troth — would  be  a  very  romatic  affair.  As, 
no  doubt,  it  was — for  him.  But  the  girl 
herself  made  me  wonder:  how  on  earth  she 
had  seen  what  she  had  seen  and  kept  her 
patience  and  her  nerve — that  beat  me.  What 
a  fine  pride  to  her!  What  a  dignity!  Nothing 
asked,  yet  nothing  refused.  No  hope,  yet  no 
despair.  And  no  illusion  after  the  first  week. 
How  could  there  have  been?  No,  she  must 
have  said  to  herself,  Men  are  made  so,  and 
women  have  to  give  way  to  them.  She  must 
have  had  a  certain  scorn  of  her  scampish 
husband,  too.  I  could  imagine  that  short 
upper  lip  of  hers  curving  to  her  fine  nose  as 


PIERPOINT  287 

she  considered  him  and  caught  sight  from  an 
upper  window — her  duster  in  hand — of  his 
goings-on  with  fair  lady  visitors.  Yet  she 
was  never  tempted  to  shatter  his  bubbles 
for  him!  Never  itched  to  put  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder  as  he  stooped  to  whisper  or  entreat 
— or  to  shake  him  with  a  "Come  to  me, 
husband!"  No,  no.  Men  were  made  so, 
and  women  must  give  them  their  heads.  Oh, 
proud  and  patient  Ethel  Cook! 

One  by  one  they  went  to  bed,  but  Wynyard 
remained.  He  pulled  at  his  pipe  for  a  while, 
meditating.  He  was  quieter  than  he  had 
been  for  some  days. 

Presently  he  stirred,  and  gave  me  a  steady 
look.  "It  came  out  of  me  directly  I  saw  her 
coming,"  he  said.  "I  was  savage  and  let  out. 
I'm  not  sorry,  except  for  Ethel.  I  don't  think 
I  ought  to  have  done  it — but  I  let  out.  I 
shall  go  on  now  I've  begun  with  it.  She's  a 
good  girl.  He  shall  do  the  square  thing  by 
her  now. " 

"You  needn't  say  anything  just  yet,"  I 
said.  "Leave  her  alone  for  a  bit.  She's 
telling  Helena  about  it.  I  advised  her  to. " 

He  stared;  then  showed  relief.     "Oh,  I'm 


288  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

glad  of  that.  You  were  perfectly  right. 
That's  the  best  thing  she  can  do.  Helena 
will  be  kind  to  her. " 

"Yes,  I  know."  I  agreed  with  that;  but 
then  I  warned  him  that  it  would  react  on 
Helena. 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  he  said.  "That 
blackguard  has  been  making  love  to  her 
again.  When  I  was  out  in  Vienna  I  warned 
him." 

"Oh,  that  was  what  you  did!  You  let  him 
know  what  you  knew?"  I  said. 

Wynyard  nodded. 

"He  knew  then.  I  was  bound  to  stop  him. 
And  I  did.  He  kept  himself  in  hand  after 
that.  He  has  behaved  decently  here  until 
lately." 

I  asked  him  how  he  had  found  out,  and  he 
said  it  was  in  a  very  curious  way.  Five  years 
ago  he  had  been  in  Berwick  for  a  night  on  his 

way  to  fish  with  the  G s  at  Coldstream. 

A  man — a  clergyman,  in  fact — had  come  up 
behind  him  where  he  was  standing  in  front 
of  a  shop  window  with  a  "  Good  evening,  Mr. 
Hammond,"  and  when  he  turned  about,  still 
held  out  a  hand.  Wynyard  had  denied  the 


PIERPOINT  289 

name,  but  the  man,  though  more  doubtfully, 
held  on  to  it.  "Surely  I'm  not  mistaken,"  he 
said.  "Surely  I  married  you  this  time  last 
year?"  Wynyard  said,  "Indeed,  he  did  not;" 
and  the  clergyman  said,  "Well,  if  it  was  not 
you  it  was  your  brother. "  He  admitted  that 
the  facial  likeness  was  not  extraordinary; 
but  from  behind,  he  said,  he  would  have 
sworn  it.  Wynyard  asked,  "Whom  did  his 
brother  marry?"  And  the  man  replied  at 
once,  "a  Miss  Ethel  Cook,  a  handsome  young 
lady." 

:'Then, "  said  Wynyard,  "I  thought  it  was 
worth  looking  into.  He  showed  me  the  Regis- 
ter. Philip  Hammond,  in  the  fellow's  own 
handwriting,  and  Ethel  Cook.  By  special 
license,  too.  Six  years  ago  this  August." 

"And  you  kept  it  to  yourself?"  I  asked  him. 

"I  did,"  said  Wynyard.  "We  never  loved 
each  other,  but  it  was  no  business  of  mine." 

"What  do  you  suppose  he'll  do  now?  Will 
he  face  it  out?" 

Wynyard  thought  not.     "He  wouldn't  do 

that.    There'd  be  no  fun  in  it,  you  see.    And 

again,  there'd  be  no  fun  out  of  it.    He  likes  a 

cake   in   the    cupboard,    but   he   wants    any 

19 


290  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

amount  on  the  table,  too.  I  think  he'll  go 
abroad." 

"And  let  her  rip?" 

"Yes.  He'll  be  pretty  sure  my  father  will 
get  to  know  about  it.  He'll  argue  it  out  with 
himself.  He  might  send  for  her  in  a  few 
years'  time,  when  he's  had  his  whack." 

"Do  you  think  she'd  go?" 

"You  can't  tell.  At  least  I  can't.  I  don't 
know  anything  about  women." 

"The  chief  will  hear  of  it,  no  doubt,"  I 
said. 

He  thought  so.  But  it  wouldn't  be  from 
him,  he  said. 


XXI 
SURRENDER 

THE  man  who  put  out  my  things  said  to  me 
as  he  was  going  out  of  the  door,  "The  Baron- 
ess' compliments,  sir,  and  she  would  be  glad  if 
she  could  see  you  for  a  moment  before  break- 
fast. She  will  be  in  the  morning-room." 

There  she  was,  when  I  came  to  look  for 
her,  dressed  in  black,  with  a  red  rose  in  her 
belt,  and  another  in  her  hand  for  the  chief. 
She  was  pale,  but  quite  composed. 

She  thanked  me  for  sending  Ethel  to  her. 
She  said  it  was  a  great  compliment.  There 
was  nothing  she  loved  more  than  being  useful. 

"I  am  sure  that  you  were  useful  to  Ethel," 
I  said. 

"Yes,  I  hope  so.  I  kept  her  with  me  all 
night.  We  were  useful  to  each  other.  I 
suppose  you  know.  I  suppose  you  understand 
that  this  is  a  great  shock  to  me." 

I  said,  "No  doubt. "  And  there  could  be  no 
doubt  at  all.  Had  she  applied  the  balms  of 

Araby   to    her    unguarded    lips?      But    if    I 

291 


292  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

gathered  aright  there  had  been  more  than 
a  kiss  or  two.  Wynyard  would  not  have  put 
the  screws  on  unless  there  had  been  urgent 
need  for  it.  Pierpoint  had  beset  her,  seriously. 
She  only  knew  how  much  need  there  had  been 
for  them,  when  Wynyard  brought  up  his 
reserves.  All  this  must  have  been  terrible 
to  the  poor  lady.  Nothing  brings  a  conscience 
so  sharply  to  the  ache  as  the  conviction  that 
one  had  been  fool  as  well  as  rogue. 

I  could  see  that  she  was,  indeed,  sore  all 
over.  She  said  sharply  and  stiffly,  too,  "Of 
course  there  is  only  one  thing  for  me  to  do. " 

"Oh,  no,"  I  put  in,  "there  are  lots  of 
things  for  people  like  you  to  do." 

She  stopped,  and  recovered  herself.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

I  said,  "You  see,  you  have  the  poor  girl 
to  comfort.  She  must  be  put  right  with  the 
world  and  herself.  Nobody  but  you  can  do 
that.  Nobody  here,  at  least,  has  such  tactful 
fingers.  Do  you  want  her  to  weep  out  her 
troubles  on  the  cook's  bosom?  Or  Miss 
Bacchus'*  ?" 

That  steadied  her.  She  softened  imme- 
diately. "I  will  do  everything  for  her,"  she 


SURRENDER  293 

said.  "Indeed,  we  have  talked  of  that. 
She  wishes  to  leave.  She  has  asked  to  come 
with  me.  I  hope  she  will." 

I  said,  "I  don't  think  Sir  Roderick  will 
like  that.  He  will  want  to  be  told  the  reason. " 

She  looked  down.  "No,"  she  said,  "he 
won't.  If  I  go,  he'll  be  glad  for  her  to  be 
with  me."  Of  course  she  was  right.  Ethel 
would  be  a  hostage. 

She  then  told  me  that  she  should  go  back 
to  the  Baron  to-day  or  to-morrow.  The  Muirs 
were  leaving  to-day.  It  would  be  to-morrow 
then.  That  would  give  him  twenty-four 
hours'  notice. 

I  said  something — I  don't  know  what — 
about  the  distress  of  Inveroran.  She  said 
that  she  knew  that.  "They  love  me,  and  I 
love  them.  They  will  be  unhappy,  and  so 
shall  I.  But  I  have  done  wrong.  I  didn't 
know  it  and  am  not  happy  at  all.  You  think 
me  wicked — " 

I  protested  to  Heaven.  "You  do  not,  be- 
cause you  are  kind,  or  because  you  under- 
stand. Well,  I  won't  be  wicked  any  more. 
It  is  a  great  pity  that  one  can't  be  happy 
if  one  is  good. "  Then  she  held  out  her  hand 


294  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

to  me.  She  was  an  innocent,  tender  creature. 
I  was  very  much  in  love  with  her  myself. 

At  breakfast,  Sir  Roderick  asked  where 
Pierpoint  was,  but  got  no  answer  until  Hector 
came  down,  rather  late.  He  had  a  note  in 
his  hand  which  he  took  over  to  his  father. 
He  stood  by  him  while  he  read  it.  Pierpoint 
said  that  he  had  gone  South,  and  wanted 
his  servant  to  bring  him  his  things.  He  was 
sorry  he  hadn't  had  time  to  say  good-bye. 
He  would  write  to  his  father  from  London. 

Those  who  were  surprised  and  those  who 
were  not  surprised  didn't  show  any  sign  of 
disturbance.  Patrick  said  he  had  missed  the 
first  decent  fishing  day  we  had  had.  It  was 
true  that  yesterday's  rain  had  been  followed 
by  a  frosty  night.  There  would  be  sea-trout 
for  the  asking. 

But  Sir  Roderick  was  annoyed.  He  frowned, 
fiddling  the  note  in  his  hands. 

"He  suits  himself — he  may  do  as  he  pleases. 
I  consider  it  a  want  of  respect  to  the  lady  of 
the  house.  That's  all  I  have  to  say."  He 
frowned  as  he  spoke  in  Helena's  direction. 
She  blushed  gratefully,  and  beamed  her 
thanks  and  deprecation  at  once.  It  made  her 


SURRENDER  295 

job  no  easier,  lady  of  the  house  for  twenty- 
four  hours  longer. 

By  lunch-time,  when  the  Muirs  were  off, 
everybody  concerned  knew  that  Helena  was 
going  except  the  chief.  She  chose  her  own 
time  for  telling  him.  He  had  his  siesta  in 
peace,  anyhow.  Wynyard  carried  off  his  per- 
sonal woes  to  Oranside,  and  made  the  sea- 
trout  smart  for  it.  Goodly  hecatombs  of 
them  were  offered  up.  He  didn't  appear  until 
dinner-time.  Pat  went  fishing,  too.  He 
said,  "Frightful  score  for  the  Baron,  I  must 
say.  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  take  our 
licking  in  real  style  and  ask  him  here.  I 
believe  he'd  come,  too. " 

I  said,  "I  believe  he  would  if  you  asked 
him,  Pat."  Pat  said  that  he'd  do  it  for 
twopence.  Then  he  said  that  he  thought  he 
should  clear  out  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
"We  shall  have  an  awfully  wet  night  of  it 
if  we  don't  look  out. " 

Miss  Bacchus,  I  believe,  when  she  was  told, 
said,  "Well,  my  dear  soul,  what  else  could 
you  do?"  or  words  to  that  effect.  She  was 
arguing  from  a  priori  grounds,  I  suppose, 
for  it  is  unlikely  that  Helena  confided  Ethel 


296  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Cook's  scrape  to  her  vigorous  treatment.  But 
certainly  Miss  Bacchus  put  two  and  two 
together,  for  she  said  to  me  in  her  caustic 
way,  "I  suppose  the  sweet  tooth  bit  on  a 
peach-stone.  That  hurts."  Then  she  said 
sharply,  "Do  you  think  he's  gone  to  London?" 

"Who?  Pierpoint?"  I  parried  her.  "Oh 
why  not?" 

"It's  a  long  way  to  throw  a  peach-stone," 
said  Miss  Bacchus.  "It  must  have  hurt." 

The  Baron,  like  the  gentleman  he  was, 
replied  to  Helena's  intimation  of  surrender 
that  he  would  meet  her  at  Euston,  naming  the 
train.  He  must  also  have  told  her  the  name 
of  his  hotel,  as  afterwards  appeared.  This 
was  letting  Sir  Roderick  down  gently,  but  it 
involved  an  early  departure  for  Helena  on 
the  morrow.  She  was  a  long  time  closeted 
with  the  old  chief,  telling  him  her  story. 
They  came  into  the  hall  together  when  tea 
was  there.  He  looked  very  sick,  indeed,  but 
made  the  best  of.  Many  an  anxious  glance 
passed  from  her  towards  him,  and  he  reassured 
her  with  smiling  eyes  whenever  he  caught 
the  beam  of  hers.  You  never  know  what 


SURRENDER  297 

women  feel  about  these  things.  They  have 
so  much  more  self-possession.  Hector,  of 
course,  was  told,  and  had  his  half-hour  of 
consolation.  Wynyard  was  prepared,  natu- 
rally, but  I  suppose  she  gave  him  something. 
It  was  astonishing  to  me  how  she  managed 
all  those  men. 

We  all  had  our  work  cut  out  for  us  that 
last  night  of  her  escapade;  but  it  went  off 
pretty  well.  There  was  no  reading.  Pat  and 
his  friend  made  us  all  play  pool.  After  that 
we  had  billiard-table  cricket,  and  the  boys 
got  excited  and  made  a  noise.  She  went 
round  and  said  her  good-byes.  She  would 
go  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  nobody 
was  to  get  up  except  Hector. 

So  she  went  about  and  got  through  with 
it.  Miss  Bacchus  had  a  kiss  on  each  cheek, 
Pat  had  a  kiss  and  gave  one;  Hector  would 
be  seen  later.  Wynyard  put  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder  and  said,  "Good-bye,  Helena:"  her 
cheek  flickered,  but  was  not  kissed.  I  kissed 
her  hand,  and  then  she  was  taken  to  Sir 
Roderick's  heart. 

He  was  very  much  moved,  but  without 
a  fuss.  He  kissed  her  fondly,  and  said  some- 


298  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

thing  which  she  answered — inaudibly.  Then 
she  went  away;  and  there  was  the  end,  or 
what  seemed  to  be  the  end,  of  a  dream. 

Meantime  Sir  Roderick  didn't  know  that, 
it  was  his  daughter-in-law  who  was  going  as 
Helena's  maid.  He  had  had  her  in  to  his 
room,  and  had  made  her  a  little  speech  in  the 
presence  of  his  sons.  He  had  made  her  a 
handsome  present,  and  had  said  how  glad 
he  was  that  she  was  to  be  companion  to  so 
dear  a  friend  as  the  Baroness  von  Broderode. 
To  all  of  which  Ethel  Cook  had  listened  with 
becoming  gravity.  She  had  then  had  her 
hand  shaken  by  everybody  in  turn  and  had 
retired. 

Wynyard  caught  her  up-stairs,  he  told  me, 
and  had  a  talk  with  her.  He  had  not  then 
told  Hector,  but  he  said  that  when  he  did, 
it  was  probable  that  Hector  would  tell  his 
father.  On  his  own  part  he  undertook,  at 
a  word  from  her,  to  put  everything  on  a 
proper  footing.  She  thanked  him  and  said 
that  she  preferred  to  be  as  she  was.  She  said 
that  she  wasn't  fitted  to  be  Pierpoint's  wife, 
and  was  quite  contented.  That  was  all,  so  far. 

Hector  saw  them  off  in  the  morning — in 


SURRENDER  299 

a  "bitter  driving  mist  of  rain  and  brown  leaves. 
She  had  another  good-bye  with  the  chief,  I 
heard;  and  he  was  on  the  steps  when  she 
finally  departed.  Hector  went  on  with  them 
in  the  motor  to  the  junction. 

Here,  for  a  time,  ended  my  acquaintance 
with  the  prettiest  and  most  pettable  lady  I 
had  ever  met.  She  was  fitted  to  be  the 
wife  of  any  true  man,  or,  indeed,  of  any 
dozen,  for  her  tact  and  sweetness  of  disposition 
were  such  that  discordance  could  not  be 
where  she  was.  No  man  could  hurt  her, 
and  I  don't  believe  that  the  Baron  ever  did, 
though  his  hands  maybe  were  not  of  the 
lightest.  If  you  ask  me  my  candid  opinion, 
I  think  she  was  fairly  contented  until,  in  a 
momentous  hour,  Hector  saw  her  unhappy 
and  persuaded  her  that  she  was  so.  The 
Baron  had  seen  that  with  his  usual  acumen. 
By  comparison  with  Inveroran  her  life  with 
a  vivacious  old  invalid  may  well  have  been 
monotonous;  for  what  woman  could  resist 
a  houseful  of  lovers  ?  And  so  she  may  have 
found  her  return  an  anti-climax.  The  Baron 
was  going,  fine  fighter  as  he  was.  A  stronger 
enemy  than  Hector  had  him  held.  I  suspect 


300  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

that  he  took  to  his  bed,  when  he  reached  it, 
and  once  there,  there  was  no  getting  out  on 
this  side  Phlegethon.  Well,  he  had  warmed 
both  hands,  back  and  front.  There  were  few 
phials  of  pleasure  in  which  he  had  not  dipped. 
I  suppose  he  was  a  horrid  old  scamp;  but  I 
always  liked  him.  He  took  things  as  they 
came,  and  lost  neither  head,  heart  nor  temper. 
If  he  tyrannized  his  Helena,  I  am  certain 
that  he  never  snarled  at  her.  His  appetites 
were  hearty,  his  tastes  somewhat  gross,  his 
pleasures  of  the  earth.  Farewell  to  him, 
from  me  at  least,  as  a  man  of  courage  and 
resource. 


XXII 
PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK 

I  HAVE  said  already  somewhere  that  Sir 
Roderick  was  a  man  who  proceeded  by  explo- 
sions, like  a  petrol-engine.  A  spark  kindled 
him.  A  rapid  series  of  puffs  and  snaps,  a 
whirring  and  grinding  of  cogs,  and  he  was 
off:  very  often  upon  the  top  of  you.  So  he 
had  advanced  from  youth  to  maturity,  and 
thence  to  eld. 

But  he  was  a  slow-witted,  heavy  man,  too. 
He  had  his  fixed  ideas,  and  was  himself  fixed 
in  them.  When  one  of  these  was  disturbed 
by  outside  impact  he  could  at  first  see  only 
a  wanton  outrage  by  the  jostler.  It  was  only 
by  degrees  that  he  appreciated  what  might 
have  caused  the  collision;  that  the  jostler 
might  himself  have  been  jostled.  And  when, 
by  degrees  and  degrees,  the  truth  stood  bare, 
it  was  quite  as  likely  as  not  that  he  would 
yield  to  panic — and  do  considerable  damage. 

Put  it  like  this,  that  his  mental  apparatus 
was  like  a  regiment  on  the  march.  All  goes 

well  so  long  as  it  covers  the  miles  without 

301 


302  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

obstacle,  to  the  tap  of  the  drum  or  the  whist- 
ling of  the  ranks.  But  interruption  of  routine 
flurries  it — the  van  is  hustled  by  the  rear. 
The  drum-taps  are  intermittent,  the  whistling 
ceases.  All  at  once  somebody  cries  out, 
"  Nous  sommes  trahis!"  and  everybody  begins 
to  shoot. 

So  it  was  with  Sir  Roderick.  He  believed 
himself  supreme  in  his  house;  he  believed 
that  he  pushed  that  which  really  pushed  him. 
The  household  routine  went  on,  and  he  with 
it.  He  believed  he  was  taking  a  great  deal 
of  exercise,  he  took  for  granted  a  vast  amount 
of  homage  and  gratitude  from  dutiful  sons 
and  adoring  servants.  He  pictured  the  boys 
pausing  in  their  daily  round  of  sport  or  fun 
to  look  at  each  other  and  say,  'God  bless  the 
dear  old  chief  for  all  he  is  doing  for  us!'  He 
saw  himself  as  a  benevolent  despot;  and 
when  he  found  out  that  he  was  nothing  of  the 
sort — well,  he  got  very  cross,  and,  as  I  say,  did 
a  great  deal  of  damage  to  himself  and  others. 

When  I  came  down  to  breakfast  on  the 
morning  of  Helena's  departure  I  was  met 
at  the  door  by  Pat  and  his  young  friend. 


PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK  303 

They  were  tiptoe  for  a  flight.  Pat,  meeting 
me,  rounded  his  eyes  and  pulled  his  mouth 
sideways.  He  durst  not  say  anything  or  stay 
his  retreat. 

I  went  in,  and  saw  Wynyard  alone  at  the 
table,  red  in  the  face,  looking  steadily  at 
his  father,  who  stood  with  a  letter  in  his 
hand.  I  turned  to  fly,  but  was  too  late. 

The  chief  was  on  me.  He  wheeled  round 
and  I  saw  the  fire  in  his  dark-blue  eyes. 

"Don't  leave  us — there  is  no  need  for  that. 
I  think,  indeed,  that  you  may  be  able  to 
move  Wynyard's  tongue.  My  son's  tongue, 
sir,  which  won't  wag  for  his  father."  He 
held  me  out  the  letter.  "Be  pleased  to  read 
that,  sir,  and  to  understand  what  kind  of  chil- 
dren I  have  reared — to  disgrace  me,  by  God." 

I  held  the  letter  in  my  hand.  I  said,  "Do 
you  really  want  me  to  read  this?" 

Sir  Roderick  was  now  solemnly  inclined 
upon  his  course.  "You  will  oblige  me." 

It  was  from  Pierpoint. 

"My  DEAR  FATHER, — You  have  no  doubt 
heard  from  Hector  or  Wynyard,  or  both,  of 
my  leaving  Inveroran,  and  the  reason  of  it, 


304  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

or  what  they  suppose  the  reason  of  it  is.  I 
don't  trust  to  their  sympathy,  and  don't 
particularly  want  it;  but  I  should  like  you 
to  know  my  own  account.  I  left  at  once 
because  it  seemed  the  kindest  thing  to  the 
persons  involved.  I  have  written  to  my  wife 
to  desire  her  to  join  me  here,  where  I  have 
made  arrangements  for  her  establishment. 
When  you  are  alone  and  willing  to  see  me  I 
will  come  up  and  give  you  full  particulars. 
But  I  definitely  decline  to  meet  Wynyard, 
who  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  the  course  he 
took,  and  lost  his  head  as  well  as  his  manners. 

"Your  affectionate  son, 

"P.  G.  M.  MALLESON. 

"P.S. — I  propose  to  live  abroad  and  hope 
to  get  into  the  Turkish  service." 

He  wrote  from  an  address  in  London. 

I  handed  the  letter  back  under  the  glare 
of  Sir  Roderick's  eyes. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "what  have  you  to 
say?" 

That  was  a  little  too  much  for  me.  "I 
have  nothing  to  say,"  I  answered,  "and  don't 


PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK  305 

know  what  you  expect  me  to  say.  I  had 
nothing  to  do  with  Pierpoint's  marriage,  if 
you  mean  that." 

He  shook  the  letter  at  me.  "But  you 
knew  of  it.  You  knew  that  he  had  a  wife — 
here — in  this  house " 

"He  doesn't  say  that,"  I  said  rather 
foolishly. 

"You  prevaricate,  sir,  She  was  in  this 
house.  She  was  one  of  my  own  servants. 
And  you  knew  it." 

I  didn't  know  what  on  earth  to  do.  He 
was  so  angry  that  I  should  have  made  him 
worse  whatever  I  said.  Wynyard  cut  in  to 
the  rescue. 

"He  knew  it  because  it  was  burst  upon 
him.  He  knew  nothing  of  it  until  then. 
He  heard  me  mention  it.  He  was  with  me 
at  the  time.  It  was  not  for  him  to  tell  you. 
It  was  for  Pierpoint  or  me."  That  turned 
him  blazing  on  Wynyard. 

"And  why  the  devil  did  you  keep  me  in 
the  dark,  sir?  Who  are  you  to  say  what  I 
am  to  hear  and  what  not  hear?" 

"Well,"  said  Wynyard  slowly,  "I  am  not 
the  husband  of  the  lady,  anyhow." 


20 


3o6  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

Sir  Roderick  laid  hands  upon  himself.  If 
he  hadn't  Wynyard  would  have  felt  his  grip. 
He  became  dangerously  calm. 

"Have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  why  you 
mentioned  it,  as  you  are  pleased  to  say, 
when  you  did." 

Wynyard  flushed  again. 

"I  regret  it.  I  should  not.  But  I  don't 
want  to  drag  personal  matters  into  dis- 
cussion." 

"You  decline  to  answer  my  question?" 
Sir  Roderick  said,  still  very  quiet. 

"Yes,"  Wynyard  said,  "I  do." 

Sir  Roderick  paused,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
in  the  very  act  to  spring.  But  I  suppose 
that  even  he  recognized  that  there  are  limits 
to  the  authority  of  fathers,  chieftains  though 
they  be.  He  glared,  his  mouth  was  open, 
he  showed  his  fine  teeth — marvellous  teeth 
for  a  man  of  his  age — but  he  left  Wynyard 
alone,  and  turned  to  the  bell-rope.  That  he 
tugged  at,  and  stood  by  it,  with  his  hand 
still  grasping  it,  until  it  was  answered. 

"Ask  Mr.  Malleson  to  come  to  me  when 
he  returns,"  he  told  the  man.  Then  he 
stalked  out  of  the  room. 


PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK  307 

"This  is  beastly,"  Wynyard  said.  "It's 
my  fault.  I'm  sorry." 

I  said,  "He'll  find  it  out,  you  know.  You 
can't  keep  Helena  out  of  it." 

"Who'll  tell  him?"  said  Wynyard. 

I  said,  "My  dear  man,  it's  easy  enough. 
He'll  guess  it." 

And  of  course  he  did;  but  it  took  time. 
He  wrote  Helena  and  had  a  telegram  in 
reply.  Upon  that  he  went  to  town,  and  saw 
her  and  Ethel  Cook.  I  had  left  Inveroran, 
and  had  the  facts  from  Hector  who  came 
down  with  his  father,  but  did  not  return  with 
him.  He  dined  with  me  soon  after  the  thing 
which  he  reported  had  happened,  but  not 
before  I  had  myself  had  a  visit  from  the  chief 
himself,  who  wrote  for  an  appointment. 

Directly  we  were  face  to  face  he  came  to 
me  with  his  hand  out.  "I  ask  your  pardon, 
my  dear  friend,  for  my  vehemence.  I  was 
unjust  and  you  bore  with  me."  That  was 
handsome  in  the  old  boy. 

He  went  on  in  a  hurry:  "You  were  awk- 
wardly placed.  You  did  what  you  had  to 
do — and  no  more.  Yes,  I  was  unjust.  You 
could  not  have  taken  on  yourself  to  tell  me 


3o8  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

what  you  had  heard  by  chance.  No,  no. 
But  let  me  tell  you  that  in  what  you  did  do — 
when  you  sent  that  weeping,  deluded,  igno- 
rant, wronged  girl  to  her  mistress's  heart,  to 
her  mistress's  arms,  you  did  a  charitable,  a 
fine  act,  sir.  It  has  touched  me — it  has  drawn 
me  here." 

He  was  greatly  moved.  His  words  choked 
him.  He  blew  his  nose  vigorously  with  a 
red  silk  handkerchief.  I  said,  "Chief,  I  did 
what  you  would  have  done  at  the  moment "- 
which  was  pretty  of  me,  but  disingenuous, 
because  I  don't  think — and  didn't  then  think 
—that  he  would  have  done  anything  of  the 
kind. 

But  he  took  it.  :tYes,  indeed — I  hope 
so.  God  help  us  all!  I  have  seen  Helena. 
She  has  told  me — I  am  humbled  by  the  sense 
of  her  generosity.  And  I  have  seen  the  poor 
girl,  and  think  that  we  understand  each 
other.  Well,  I  won't  keep  you.  You  are 
good  to  bear  with  the  self-reproaches  of  an 
old  man.  These  are  evil  days  for  my  house. 
I  don't  know  where  I  stand  at  the  moment. 
My  lovers  and  friends  stand  afar  off!  But 
I  have  broad  shoulders,  and  good  friends 


PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK  309 

yet.  I  doubt  not  I  shall  weather  it."  And 
then  he  marched  out,  with  the  air  of  the  pipes 
(I  am  sure)  ringing  in  his  ears. 

I  must  summarize  events  of  which  I  have 
no  personal  knowledge.  Hector  kept  me 
informed.  Pierpoint  was  got  into  the  Turkish 
Army  by  interest,  and  went  off  without  seeing 
his  father  or  any  of  his  brothers  except 
Hector.  Hector  insisted  on  an  interview  and 
saw  him  off.  I  think  he  felt  it  his  duty.  He 
was  very  strict  about  that.  His  Ethel  didn't 
go  with  him,  and  wouldn't  see  him;  but 
she  admitted,  under  pressure,  that  she  might 
change  her  mind  by  and  by.  She  refused 
also  to  be  set  up  by  the  family,  preferring  to 
be  with  Helena.  Whether  that  was  Helena's 
doing  I  don't  know,  but  suspect  that  it  was. 
She  had  very  coaxing  ways,  and  may  have 
wanted  a  confidant.  And  there's  another 
thing.  Helena  was  exceedingly  sensitive  to 
opinion,  and  one  of  the  cleverest  women  I 
ever  knew  at  hitting  off  the  right  line.  She 
may  well  have  known  how  much  comfort 
her  friends  at  Inveroran  would  derive  from 
her  keeping  Ethel  by  her.  That  they  were 


310  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

comforted  was  beyond  question.  Hector  said 
so.  He  said  that  the  chief  couldn't  say  kind 
enough  things  about  Ethel.  He  was  greatly 
touched — he  hinted  at  generosities  on  a  large 
scale  in  his  will.  That  proves  how  clever 
Helena  was — one  mass  of  tentacles.  As  for 
my  poor  tentacular  friend  himself,  consumed 
as  he  was  by  cares  for  what  might  or  might 
not  be  Helena's  fate,  resumed  by  the  claws 
of  her  husband,  whom  his  dark  imagination 
pictured  as  a  horrible  cross  between  Pan, 
Priapus,  and  Mephistopheles,  his  whole  trust 
was  in  the  gravity  and  deep  bosom  of  his 
handsome  sister-in-law.  He  made  a  kind  of 
Demeter  of  that  fine  girl,  and  pictured  her 
keeping  watch  and  ward  while  his  pale  Perse- 
phone shivered  in  the  house  of  Hades. 

The  von  Broderodes  went  back  to  Vienna. 
Hector  wrote  to  her  once  a  week,  and  heard 
from  her,  perhaps,  once  a  month.  He  showed 
me  some  of  her  letters,  or  read  me  parts  of 
them.  She  didn't  complain,  never  mentioned 
the  Baron  (an  old  trick  of  hers),  said  that  she 
had  Hermione  at  home  and  seemed  happy  in 
feeling  that  she  was  bringing  her  up  properly. 
Hermione  was  getting  on  for  thirteen,  a  tall 


PASSION  OF  SIR  RODERICK  311 

child.  She  had  sent  her  photograph  to  Sir 
Roderick,  and,  as  I  gathered,  a  good  deal 
more  besides.  "I  told  your  father,"  or  "the 
chief  will  know  by  this  time" — constant 
phrases  in  her  letters — pointed  to  a  pretty 
regular  correspondence  with  the  head  of  the 
clan  Malleson.  But  Hector,  "the  dangerous 
man,"  was  not  at  all  dangerous  now.  He 
loved  her  in  his  melancholy  way.  But  there 
was  to  be  no  fruit.  It  had  miffed-off,  as  the 
gardeners  say.  It  was  his  career,  in  matters 
of  the  heart,  to  love  romantically,  and  be 
esteemed  in  return.  Like  the  Austrian  Army, 
he  had  a  "tradition  of  defeat."  Poor,  excel- 
lent, chaste  Hector. 


XXIII 
THE  END  OF   IT  ALL 

WYNYARD  went  abroad,  bought  land  in  Flor- 
ida, and  prospered.  He  was  out  there  when 
the  news  came  that  the  Baron  was  dead. 
That  was  two  years,  rather  more,  after  he 
carried  home  his  Helena  with  such  triumph  as 
pertained.  Hector  dined  with  me  when  he 
had  the  news,  and  told  me  all  about  it.  He 
said  that  he  had  wired  to  his  father,  not 
because  it  was  necessary,  for  almost  certainly 
Helena  had  told  him,  but  for  an  odd  reason. 
"My  father  likes  little  attentions,  and  doesn't 
like  it  to  be  known  that  he  does.  So  I  showed 
him  one  on  my  own  account,  and  led  him  to 
infer  that  I  knew  nothing  of  Helena's.  Do 
you  see?"  He  thought  that  rather  neat. 

He  talked  a  good  deal  about  her,  wondering 
how  she  was  left  off;  what  she  would  do  with 
the  Galicia  estate,  with  Hermione — and  with 
Ethel.  That  young  woman  had  not  yet 
claimed  conjugal  relationship  with  Pierpoint. 
31* 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  313 

Malleson  Bey  he  was  now.  He  had  done  very 
well  with  a  Macedonian  rising;  was  thought 
to  be  a  coming  man.  "If  I  go  out  to  Vienna," 
he  said  musingly,  "I  shall  try  to  arrange 
something.  It's  pretty  bad  to  have  a  pretty 
sister-in-law  whom  you  can't  treat  as  such." 

"But  you  can  treat  her  as  such  perfectly 
well,"  I  told  him.  "Do  you  suppose  Helena 
has  left  her  where  she  picked  her  up?  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  I  bet  you  something  handsome  that 
Mrs.  Ethel  is  a  somebody  in  Vienna." 

"She'd  be  a  nobody  at  Inveroran,"  he  said, 
"  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Why,  old  Sandars 
knew  her  as  a  between-maid." 

"Oh,  you  can't  have  her  there,  of  course." 
That  I  admitted.  "But  you  can  set  her  up 
with  a  household." 

"I'll  see  about  it,"  he  said,  and  grew  gloomy. 
I  knew  he  was  thinking  of  his  chances  with 
Helena,  trying  to  get  himself  to  admit  that 
they  were  nothing  at  all. 

But  he  didn't  go  out  for  a  long  time.  He 
had  heard  the  news  in  the  summer.  In 
August  he  went  home  and  saw  his  father.  No 
doubt  that  they  talked  about  it.  I  know 
that  he  went  with  the  intention  of  telling  him 


THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

what  he  hoped  for.  He  stayed  up  there  for 
his  usual  time,  came  back  to  London  in  Octo- 
ber, and  then  told  me  that  he  was  going  to 
ask  Helena  to  marry  him.  He  was  very 
depressed  about  it. 

"I've  loved  her  for  nearly  four  years,"  he 
said.  "I  feel  very  nervous.  She  means  so 
much  to  me  by  this  time  that  I  hardly  dare 
consider  her  in  such  a  relationship.  Don't 
you  understand  that  a  man  may  magnify  and 
enhance  a  woman  so  much  by  constantly 
brooding  upon  her  with  adoration  that  the 
other  feelings  are  atrophied,  as  it  were?" 

I  said  that  I  did  understand  it,  but  added 
that  I  understood  also  that  atrophy  of  the 
other  feelings  did  not  make  marriage  a  hopeful 
adventure. 

He  knew  that.  He  began,  "You  think 
that  a  platonic  union—  '  and  I  must  needs 
laugh. 

"Helena  is  no  platonist,"  I  said.  "But, 
after  all,  I  don't  suppose  that  you  are,  either. 
Nor  have  you  any  business  to  be.  The  Inver- 
oran  nurseries  must  be  filled.  You  have  an 
inheritance  to  hand  on." 

"Nigel  has  half-a-dozen  children,"  he  said. 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  315 

"They  won't  console  your  wife,  my  poor 
Hector,"  I  told  him. 

He  said,  It  was  very  difficult.  I  replied 
that  I  understood  it  was  not.  But  he  frowned 
me  down. 

The  Baron,  by  his  will,  had  left  Rosemount 
to — Sir  Roderick!  Posthumous  magnanimity, 
which  impressed  Hector  very  much.  I  hadn't 
understood  before  that  it  had  been  his  own 
property;  but  it  seems  that  he  bought  it  out- 
right of  Peter  Grant:  and  now,  with  a  cynical 
twist  quite  in  keeping  with  his  character,  had 
dished  that  enemy  of  the  Clan  Malleson.  I 
could  imagine  him  chuckling  as  he  flapped  his 
spectral  wings  over  the  family  vault.  Hector 
said  that  his  father  would  accept  the  disposi- 
tion, and  was  very  glad  of  it,  indeed,  though 
he  would  not  allow  any  merit  to  the  disposer. 
There  had  been  some  question,  he  told  me, 
whether  or  not  the  chief  should  go  out  to 
Vienna,  but  he  had  decided  that  Hector 
should  take  his  place.  Ample  provision  was 
to  be  made  for  Mrs.  Pierpoint;  Pierpoint 
himself  was  to  be  urged  to  proper  behaviour. 
As  for  Helena,  the  chief  had  written  to  her, 
no  doubt;  but  Hector  had  no  direct  message 


3i6  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

to  her  from  the  head  of  his  house.  The  chief 
had  said  to  him,  "She  knows  that  her  home 
is  here.  She'll  find  the  fire  on  the  hearth 
whenever  she  comes,  whether  it's  mine  or 
yours."  That  was  all  he  had  said,  but  he 
knew  that  the  proud  old  chap  was  hungry  for 
her.  "He  seems  to  be  waiting.  He's  always 
looking  South-east,"  he  said.  "And  certainly 
the  place  is  horribly  empty  without  her." 

"Well,  my  dear  man,"  I  said,  "it's  up  to 
you.  She'll  come  if  you  ask  her." 

He  was  still  very  depressed.  "One  can't 
marry  to  please  one's  father,  you  know." 

"One  doesn't,"  I  said.  Then  I  added, 
"Look  here,  Hector.  I  won't  stand  in  your 
way.  I  never  have  yet.  But  if  you  don't  ask 
her,  I  shall." 

He  was  greatly  surprised.  "You!  You 
love  her?" 

I  said,  "Not  in  your  way.  But  I  like  to  be 
comfortable  as  much  as  anybody,  and  she'd 
make  any  man  comfortable." 

"Your  view  is  hateful  to  me,"  he  said — and 
he  looked  it. 

I  said,  "If  the  thought  of  her  arms  don't 
inspire  you  with  feelings  of  comfort,  you  had 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  317 

better  leave  her  alone.  What !  Are  you  a  man, 
or  an  idea?  She  at  least  is  woman,"  I  said. 
"I  promise  you  that."  On  that  he  left  me. 

We  parted  good  friends;  for  I  saw  him  off 
to  the  East  and  wished  him  well.  I  knew 
quite  well  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him, 
and  I  think  he  did,  too. 

It  was  very  like  Hector  to  change  his  plans 
half-way  towards  the  fulfilment  of  them.  He 
was  ostensibly  going  to  Constantinople.  He 
went,  in  fact,  directly  to  Vienna,  and  I  heard 
from  him  there;  a  short  and  terse  communi- 
cation which,  I  have  no  doubt,  he  thought  a 
business  letter. 

"Helena  is  well,"  he  wrote.  "A  beautiful 
serenity  upon  her,  like  a  silver  light  on  the 
sea.  Hermione  is  exactly  like  her,  but  colder. 
Not  so  affectionate.  Mother  and  daughter 
seem  like  sisters.  I  hardly  knew  Ethel  again. 
She  is  a  very  distinguished  person.  Willing 
to  see  P.,  from  whom  she  has  had  two  or  three 
letters.  My  father  has  written  to  her  with 
his  proposal  for  her  establishment.  She  is 
indifferent  to  money,  but,  I  think,  wants  a 
child.  I  hasten  to  say  that  this  is  pure  infer- 
ence on  my  part.  She  looks  older  than  Helena, 


3i8  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

to  whom  she  is  devoted.  She  has  not  been 
converted.  Helena  talks  much  of  Scotland. 
I  am  hopeful  of  bringing  her  over  in  the  spring. 
The  Galician  estates  are  to  be  sold.  They  are 
Hermione's.  Helena  has  very  little.  I  am 
going  to  Constantinople  next  week.  Helena 
does  not  wish  P.  to  come  here — but  there  is 
no  likelihood  of  it.  I  hear  that  they  think 
much  of  him  at  Constantinople." 

Then  he  sent  me  a  line  from  Constantinople. 

"P.  lives  in  great  style  here.  He  has  a  kind 
of  kiosque — rather  like  a  good  sort  of  Floren- 
tine villa  stuck  out  in  a  Venetian  lagoon. 
Cypresses  all  about  it,  a  flaky  wall  with  battle- 
ments, and  weedy  steps  down  into  the  water. 
He  wasn't  cordial,  but  heard  what  I  had  to 
say.  My  impression  was  that  he  would  be 
glad  to  have  Ethel  if  he  were  sure  that  she 
wanted  to  come.  I  told  him  that  she  was 
admired.  He  said  that  she  always  had  been, 
but  that  she  had  been  faithful  to  him  in  one 
class,  and  no  doubt  would  continue  so  in 
another.  I  said  plainly  that  he  at  least  had 
given  her  no  reason  to  be  so.  He  answered, 
No;  but  she  had  had  the  reason  in  herself. 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  319 

That  was  rather  sublime.  At  the  end  he  said 
that  he  didn't  care  to  have  her  here  as  his 
official  wife,  and  I  then  discovered  that  he 
proposed  to  begin  from  the  beginning.  He 
was  for  a  wooing.  It  was  left  like  this,  that 
she  should  settle  herself  in  Vienna,  and  receive 
him  when  he  presented  himself.  He  would 
not,  he  said,  be  able  to  leave  his  duty  for  a 
month  or  two.  If  Helena  has  not  gone  by 
that  time  I  shall  have  to  ask  her  to  receive 
him.  I  don't  think  she  will  desert  Ethel  until 
something  is  fixed.  She  is  very  faithful." 

He  was  right.  Helena  said  that  the  wooing 
must  be  done  in  her  house,  and  that  she 
would  receive  Pierpoint  if  he  came  out  to 
Vienna.  She  sent  Hector  home  with  a  message 
for  his  father  that  she  charged  herself  with 
the  duty  and  would  see  it  through.  So  far  as 
I  could  make  out,  no  tender  proposals  had 
been  made  her  by  my  transcendental  friend. 

There  the  affair,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
rested  until  the  summer,  when  Helena  was 
expected  in  London,  en  route  for  Inveroran. 
Meantime,  however,  Wynyard  had  come  back 
to  England.  He  arrived  in  May. 


320  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

He  looked  abundantly  healthy,  but  was 
grimmer  than  ever.  Things  had  prospered 
with  him.  He  grew  oranges,  and  sold  them. 
Had  a  large  property  and  was  adding  to  it. 
But  he  hadn't  come  over  to  deal  in  oranges. 
He  told  me  in  so  many  words  that  if  he  could 
get  Helena  he  intended  to  do  it.  He  squared 
his  jaw,  showed  angry  lights  in  his  blue  eyes, 
and  looked  formidable — but  yet  I  doubted. 
He  might  frighten  her  into  it,  but  the  chances 
were  that  he  would  overdo  it.  He  would  not 
go  North  to  see  his  father  at  present.  He  said 
that  he  had  heard  that  Helena  was  coming 
to  England,  and  should  wait  for  her.  He 
hoped  to  catch  her  in  Paris  and  make  his 
cast  there.  According  as  he  sped,  Inver- 
oran  should  be  his  next  move — or  the  White 
Star  home. 

He  went  off  accordingly  to  Paris,  and  I 
didn't  hear  from  him  again.  I  gather  that 
he  made  her  a  definite  offer  of  his  heart,  hand 
and  oranges,  which  she  neither  accepted  nor 
rejected,  but  left  in  suspense.  I  gather  as 
much  because  he  didn't  come  back  with  her, 
nor  cross  the  Atlantic,  but  went  off  walking 
by  himself  in  the  Pyrenees.  He  was  expected 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  321 

at  Inveroran  in  the  autumn — to  learn  his 
fate — no  doubt. 

In  London  she  was  met  by  Hector,  shining 
bolt  in  hand.  He  had  screwed  himself  up; 
but  when  or  where  he  sped  it  I  don't  know. 
Kew  Gardens,  I  believe.  The  result,  in  his 
case  also,  was  neither  hit  nor  miss.  He  told 
me  that  she  had  been  very  kind  to  him — and 
you  know  what  that  means.  There  had  been 
tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes;  but  she  could 
give  him  no  other  answer  but  the  assurance  of 
her  gratitude — at  present.  Hermione  and  she 
were  staying  with  Mrs.  Jack  Chevenix.  I  was 
asked  to  meet  them,  but  couldn't  go.  Pier- 
point,  I  heard,  had  been  in  Vienna,  and  had 
laid  siege  to  the  heart  of  his  wife,  who  had 
made  him  the  happiest  of  men.  So  that  was 
all  right,  or  we  were  agreed  to  suppose  it  so. 
Then  Helena  and  Hermione  went  up  to 
Inveroran,  and  Hector  was  their  escort.  Then 
a  bomb  burst. 

Wynyard  came  to  my  rooms  one  night 
while  I  was  at  dinner.  It  was  late  in  July; 
London  tired,  dry  and  hot.  I  heard  the  door 
open  and  a  bag  flung  down  in  the  passage. 
I  heard  Wynyard  say,  "I  shan't  keep  him  a 


21 


322  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

minute."  And  then  he  walked  in.  The  light 
seemed  to  dazzle  him.  His  eyes  looked  pale, 
his  mouth  was  open;  he  kept  opening  and 
shutting  his  hands.  I  pictured  him  as  having 
been  stuck  in  a  railway  carriage  all  the  way 
from  Pampluna,  with  his  mouth  open,  and 
his  hands  opening  and  shutting. 

I  got  up,  but  he  motioned  me  down. 

"Go  on,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  stay. 
I'm  heading  for  Liverpool.  I'm  off." 

"She  won't  have  you?"  I  said. 

He  jerked  his  head.  "She  can't.  She's 
going  to  be  my  stepmother.  God  of  Life  and 
Death!" 

I  wasn't  at  all  surprised,  but  I  had  to 
pretend  to  be. 

"Droit  de  Seigneur,"  I  said.  "After  all,  a 
chieftain's  a  chieftain." 

Wynyard  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of 
sherry." 

"I've  been  a  d d  fool.  I  never  thought 

of  it.  My  idea  was  that  Hector  would  ask 
her." 

"Hector!"  I  cried.  "Not  a  chance  of 
Hector."  Then  I  said,  "If  you  really  want 
my  opinion,  I  think  the  best  man  has  won. 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  323 

Your  father  has  no  peers.  He  will  give  you 
half-a-dozen  young  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
spoil  Helena  over  her  pretty  head  and  ears." 

Wynyard  squared  his  jaw.  "I  shouldn't 
have  spoiled  her,"  he  said,  "nor  she  me.  We 
should  have  done  very  well." 

He  would  have  dragooned  her;  she  would 
have  been  his  slave.  But  I  daresay  she  would 
have  taken  him  if  he  had  insisted  on  it,  in 
time.  I  have  always  said  of  her  from  the 
beginning  that  she  would  have  married  any 
one  of  them  and  made  him  perfectly  happy. 
The  best  man  got  her. 

Old  Laura  Bacchus,  who  was  there  at  the 
time  and  saw  it  all,  gave  me  a  detailed  account 
of  it.  "I  always  expected  it,"  she  said,  "at 
the  back  of  my  head.  It  lay  there,  put  by 
like  a  Paisley  shawl.  I  used  to  look  at  it  now 
and  then  and  say,  'You  wait.  I  shall  find 
use  for  you  one  of  these  days.'  Directly  she 
came  up  I  saw  how  it  was  to  be.  Not  from 
kim,  mind  you.  You  don't  catch  a  Scotchman 
letting  you  know  his  mind.  He!  He  took  it 
as  quietly  as  you  please.  Didn't  go  to  the 
station  even.  Met  her  on  the  perron  and  gave 


324  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

her  a  kiss  as  if  she  was  his  daughter-in-law: 
and  a  kiss  for  young  Miss,  too,  who  was  shy. 
No,  it  was  from  her  I  saw  what  was  going  to 
happen.  Why,  my  dear  man,  she  settled 
down  into  his  arms  with  a  sigh  you  could  hear 
across  the  room,  fluffing  out  her  breast-feathers 
like  a  nesting  dove.  And  croon!  My  wig,  I 
should  think  she  did  croon.  Just  one  or  two.'* 

"Miss  Bacchus,  Miss  Bacchus,"  I  said,  "no 
poetry  here,  I  beg.  Tell  me  the  facts,  and  I'll 
work  the  poetry  in  afterwards." 

"She  came,"  said  Miss  Bacchus,  "with 
blight  fever  in  her  eyes;  but  that  all  went 
after  the  first  day.  And  she  took  up  her 
house-keeping  where  she  left  it  off.  The  old 
chief  had  to  blow  his  nose,  the  morning  he 
came  down  and  found  his  rose  on  his  plate.  .  . 
You'll  see.  She'll  get  plump.  She  takes  it 
all  as  a  cat  laps  cream.  You  can  see  her  lick 
her  whiskers.  She  sits  sleeking  herself." 

"My  friend,  my  friend!" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Miss  Bacchus,  "I  don't  see 
why  she  should  get  off.  You've  always  got 
to  pay  for  your  fun.  She  owes  me  a  lot.  .  .  . 
Well,  it  didn't  take  'em  long.  She  came  to 
me  one  afternoon  with  a  soft  light  in  her  eyes. 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  325 

Came  gliding  in.  They  had  a  black-velvety 
look,  as  if  they  were  all  pupil.  She  stood  and 
looked  at  me,  her  head  on  one  side,  like  a 
thrush  considering  how  or  where  to  dig  at 
his  worm.  Then  she  kissed  me,  and  told  me 
all  about  it.  '  I  think  I'm  the  happiest  woman 
in  Europe,'  she  said.  'He's  asked  me  to 
marry  him.'  'And  what  did  you  say?'  I 
asked  her.  She  looked  at  me,  her  eyes  laugh- 
ing. 'I  didn't  say  anything,'  she  said.  'There 
wasn't  time.'  I  say,  he's  an  old  corker,  isn't 
he  though?" 

I  admitted  that  Sir  Roderick  might  well 
be  a  corker. 

"Well,  she  simply  drank  in  happiness  by 
the  bosomful.  She  didn't  understand  that 
it  could  be  so  awfully  nice  and  not  be  bad  for 
you.  'Why  don't  I  get  drunk?'  she  said. 
And  then  she  said,  'Oh,  I  will  be  good  to  him!' 
and  then  again,  in  a  way  that  touched  me, 
'I've  never  had  the  chance  of  being  good 
before.'  It  was  rot,  you  know;  but  I'm  sure 
that  she  felt  like  that." 

I  was  not  so  sure  that  it  was  rot.  I  guessed 
that  the  Baron  had  been  thwarting  to  virtue. 

Miss  Bacchus  allowed  for  the  Baron.    His 


326  THE  LITTLE  ILIAD 

life  had  hardened  him.  He  had  no  use  for 
good  women  and  couldn't  understand  them. 
His  palate  had  been  ruined.  "All  cayenne 
pepper,  you  know,"  she  said. 

I  ended  up  with  a  "Poor  old  Hector!" 
But  she  said,  "Pooh!  She'll  be  awfully  kind 
to  Hector.  He  don't  want  to  marry  anybody. 
He  only  wants  a  woman  to  say  his  prayers  to. 
Will  you  take  my  three  to  one  that  he's  his 
father's  best  man?" 

I  said  that  I  would  not.  And  it  was  lucky 
for  me  that  I  didn't.  Because  he  was. 

That's  all  over  long  ago.  There's  been  a 

child  since,  and  they  do  say But  the 

child  in  being  is  a  daughter,  and  called,  with 
great  gallantry,  Euphemia.  So  Sir  Roderick 
has  tackled  the  Malleson  curse,  and  looks 
like  winning. 

But  I  remember  that  Pat — at  the  wedding 
—had  a  gibe  about  Hector  being  like  a  mute 
at  his  own  funeral;  and  that  afterwards, 
when  we  had  seen  the  happy  pair  off,  and 
were  lighting  up,  he  had  taken  my  arm,  with 
the  pretty  wheedling  way  he  had,  and  said, 


THE  END  OF  IT  ALL  327 

"Don't  you  love  a  chap  who's  an  ass  pour  le 
bon  motif!"  I  admit  that  I  do.  Fm  awfully 
fond  of  Hector;  and  he'll  make  an  excellent 
stepson.  Not  that  the  will  be  asked  to  play 
Hippolytus.  Helena  is  madly  in  love  with 
her  old  Theseus.  You  never  saw  a  fonder 
couple.  Inseparable! 


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His  little  book  of  that  title  did  an  infinite  amount  of  good. 
"Peg  Along"  is  the  1915  slogan.  Hundred:  of  thousands 
of  fussers,  fretters,  semi-  and  would-be  invalids,  and  all 
other  halters  by  the  wayside  should  be  reached  by 
Dr.  Walton's  stirring  encouragement  to  "peg  along."  In 
this  new  book  he  shows  us  how  to  correct  our  missteps  of 
care,  anxiety,  fretting,  fear,  martyrism,  over-insistence, 
etc.,  by  teaching  us  real  steps  in  the  chapters  on  work 
and  play,  managing  the  mind,  Franklin's  and  Bacon's 
methods,  etc.,  etc.  Send  cop  ies  of  this  inspiring  little  work 
to  friends  who  appreciate  bright  wisdom.  Win  them  into 
joyful,  happy  "peggers  along"  to  health  and  happiness. 

Under  the  Red  Cross  Flag 

At  Home  and  Abroad 

By  MABEL  T.  BOARDMAN,  Chairman  of  the  National  Relief 

Board,  American    Red    Cross. 

Foreword  by  PRESIDENT  WOODROW  WILSON. 

Fully  illustrated.    Decorated  cloth.    Gilt  top.    $1.50  net. 

The  American  Red  Cross  and  the  name  of  Miss  Boardman 
have  been  inseparably  connected  for  many  years;  her  own 
story  is  one  of  fascinating  human  interest  to  all  who  feel  a 
bond  of  sympathy  with  those  who  suffer.  To-day  it  is 
the  European  War,  but  in  unforgotten  yesterdays  there 
was  the  Philippine  Typhoon,  the  Vesuvian  Eruption,  the 
Chinese  Famine,  and  almost  countless  other  disasters 
in  which  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  the  Red  Cross  have 
worked  and  met  danger  in  their  effort  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  of  humanity.  This  is  the  only  complete  his- 
torical work  upon  the  subject  that  has  yet  been  written; 
no  one,  accounting  experience  and  literary  ability,  is 
better  fitted  to  present  the  facts  than  is  the  author. 


Joseph  Pennell's  Pictures 
In  the  Land  of  Temples 

With  40  plates  in  photogravure  from  lithographs.  Introduction 
by  W.  H.  D.  Rouse,  Litt.D.  Crown  quarto.  Lithograph  on 
cover.  $i.2S  net. 

Mr.  Pennell's  wonderful  drawings  present  to  us  the 
immortal  witnesses  of  the  "Glory  that  was  Greece"  just 
as  they  stand  to-day,  in  their  environment  and  the  golden 
atmosphere  of  Hellas.  Whether  it  be  the  industrial  giants 
portrayed  in  "Pictures  of  the  Panama  Canal"  or  antique 
temples  presented  in  this  fascinating  volume,  the  great 
lithographer  proves  himself  to  be  a  master  craftsman  of 
this  metier.  The  art  of  Greece  is  perhaps  dead,  but  we 
are  fortunate  in  having  such  an  interpreter.  There  is 
every  promise  that  this  book  will  have  the  same  value 
among  artists  and  book  lovers  as  had  his  others. 
"The  isles  of  Greece,  the  isles  of  Greece! 

Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung," 
have  never  had  a  more  appreciative  and  sympathetic  lover. 

Christmas  Carol 

By  CHARLES  DICKENS.  13  illustrations  in  color  and  many 
in  black  and  white  by  Arthur  Rackham.  Octavo.  Decorated 
cloth.  $1.50  net. 

All  the  praise  that  can  be  showered  upon  Joseph  Pennell 
as  a  master  lithographer,  is  also  the  due  mead  of  Arthur 
Rackham  as  the  most  entrancing  and  mysterious  color 
illustrator  in  Europe.  His  work  is  followed  by  an  army 
of  picture  lovers  of  all  types  and  of  all  ages,  from  the 
children  in  the  nurseries  whose  imagination  he  stirs  with 
the  fiery-eyed  dragons  of  some  fairy  illustration,  to  the 
ambitious  artists  in  every  country  who  look  to  him  as  an 
inspiring  master. 

If  the  decision  had  been  left  to  the  book-reading  and 
picture-loving  public  as  to  the  most  eligible  story  for 
treatment,  we  believe  that  the  Christmas  Carol  would 
have  been  chosen.  The  children  must  see  old  Scrouge 
and  Tiny  Tim  as  Rackham  draws  them. 


Historic  Virginia  Homes 
and  Churches 

By  ROBERT  A.  LANCASTER,  JR.  About  300  illustrations  and 
a  photogravure  frontispiece.  Quarto.  In  a  box,  cloth,  gilt  top, 
$7.50  net.  Half  morocco,  $12.50  net.  A  Limited  Edition  printed 
from  type,  uniform  with  the  Pennells*  "Our  Philadelphia." 

Virginians  are  justly  proud  of  the  historical  and  archi- 
tectural glories  of  the  Old  Dominion.  All  America  looks 
to  Virginia  as  a  Cradle  of  American  thought  and  culture. 
This  volume  is  a  monument  to  Virginia,  persons  and  places, 
past  and  present.  It  has  been  printed  in  a  limited  edition 
and  the  type  has  been  distributed.  This  is  not  a  volume 
of  padded  value;  it  is  not  a  piece  of  literary  hack-work. 
It  has  been  a  labor  of  love  since  first  undertaken  some 
twenty-five  years  ago.  The  State  has  done  her  part  by 
providing  the  rich  material,  the  Author  his  with  pains- 
taking care  and  loving  diligence,  and  the  Publishers  theirs 
by  expending  all  the  devices  of  the  bookmaker's  art. 

Quaint  and  Historic 
Forts  of  North  America 

By  JOHN  MARTIN  HAMMOND,  Author  of  "  Colonial  Man- 
sions of  Maryland  and  Delaware."  With  photogravure  frontis- 
piece and  sixty-five  illustrations.  Ornamental  cloth,  gilt  top, 
in  a  box.  $5.00  net. 

This  is  an  unique  volume  treating  a  phase  of  American 
history  that  has  never  before  been  presented.  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, in  his  excellent  literary  style  with  the  aid  of  a 
splendid  camera,  brings  us  on  a  journey  through  the  exist- 
ing old  forts  of  North  America  and  there  describes  their 
appearances  and  confides  in  us  their  romantic  and  historic 
interest.  We  follow  the  trail  of  the  early  English,  French 
and  Spanish  adventurers,  and  the  soldiers  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, the  War  of  1812  and  the  later  Civil  and  Indian  Wars. 
We  cover  the  entire  country  from  Quebec  and  Nova  Scotia 
to  California  and  Florida,  with  a  side  trip  to  Havana  to 
appreciate  the  weird  romance  of  the  grim  Morro  Castle. 
Here  is  something  new  and  unique. 


The  Magic  of  Jewels  and  Charms 

By  GEORGE  FREDERICK  KUNZ,  A.M.,  PH.D.,  D.SC. 
With  numerous  plates  in  color,  doubletone  and  line.  Deco- 
rated cloth,  gilt  top,  in  a  box.  $5.00  net.  Half  morocco,  $10.00 
net.  Uniform  in  style  and  size  with  "The  Curious  Lore  of 
Precious  Stones."  The  two  volumes  in  a  box,  $10.00  net. 

It  will  probably  be  a  new  and  surely  a  fascinating  sub- 
ject to  which  Dr.  Kunz  introduces  the  reader.  The  most 
primitive  savage  and  the  most  highly  developed  Cauca- 
sian find  mystic  meanings,  symbols,  sentiments  and,  above 
all,  beauty  in  jewels  and  precious  stones;  it  is  of  this  magic 
lore  that  the  distinguished  author  tells  us.  In  past  ages 
there  has  grown  up  a  great  literature  upon  the  subject — 
books  in  every  language  from  Icelandic  to  Siamese,  from 
Sanskrit  to  Irish — the  lore  is  as  profound  and  interesting 
as  one  can  imagine.  In  this  volume  you  will  find  the 
unique  information  relating  to  the  magical  influence  which 
precious  stones,  amulets  and  crystals  have  been  supposed 
to  exert  upon  individuals  and  events. 

The  Civilization  of  Babylonia 
and  Assyria 

By  MORRIS  JASTROW,  JR.,  PH.D.,  LL.D.  140  illustrations. 
Octavo.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  in  a  box,  $6.00  net. 

This  work  covers  the  whole  civilization  of  Babylonia 
and  Assyria,  and  by  its  treatment  of  the  various  aspects 
of  that  civilization  furnishes  a  comprehensive  and  com- 
plete survey  of  the  subject.  The  language,  history, 
religion,  commerce,  law,  art  and  literature  are  thoroughly 
presented  in  a  manner  of  deep  interest  to  the  general 
reader  and  indispensable  to  historians,  clergymen,  anthro- 
pologists and  sociologists.  The  volume  is  elaborately 
illustrated  and  the  pictures  have  been  selected  with  the 
greatest  care  so  as  to  show  every  aspect  of  this  civilization, 
which  alone  disputes  with  that  of  Egypt,  the  fame  of 
being  the  oldest  in  the  world.  For  Bible  scholars  the 
comparisons  with  Hebrew  traditions  and  records  will  have 
intense  interest. 


English  Ancestral  Homes  of 
Noted  Americans 

By  ANNE  HOLLINGSWORTH  WHARTON,  Author  of  "  In 
Chateau  Land,"  etc.,  etc.  28  illustrations.  I2mo.  Cloth  $2.00 
net.  Half  morocco,  $4.00  net. 

Miss  Wharton  so  enlivens  the  past  that  she  makes  the 
distinguished  characters  of  whom  she  treats  live  and  talk 
with  us.  She  has  recently  visited  the  homelands  of  a  num- 
ber of  our  great  American  leaders  and  we  seem  to  see  upon 
their  native  heath  the  English  ancestors  of  George  Wash- 
ington, Benjamin  Franklin,  William  Penn,  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  and  Mothers,  the  Maryland  and  Virginia  Cava- 
liers and  others  who  have  done  their  part  in  the  making 
of  the  United  States.  Although  this  book  is  written  in  aa 
entertaining  manner,  and  with  many  anecdotes  and  by- 
paths to  charm  the  reader,  it  is  a  distinct  addition  to  the 
literature  of  American  history  and  will  make  a  superb  gift 
for  the  man  or  woman  who  takes  pride  in  his  or  her  library. 

Heroes  and  Heroines  of  Fiction 

Classical,  Mediaeval  and  Legendary 

By  WILLIAM  S.  WALSH.  Half  morocco,  Reference  Library 
style,  $3.00  net.  Uniform  with  "  Heroes  and  Heroines  of  Fic- 
tion, Modern  Prose  and  Poetry."  The  two  volumes  in  a  box, 
$6.00  net. 

The  fact  that  the  educated  men  of  to-day  are  not  as 
familiar  with  the  Greek  and  Roma  i  classics  as  were  their 
fathers  gives  added  value  to  Mr.  Walsh's  fascinating  com- 
pilation. He  gives  the  nime  and  cetting  of  all  the  any- 
wise important  characters  in  the  literature  of  classical, 
mediaeval  and  legendary  times.  To  one  who  is  accustomed 
to  read  at  all  widely,  it  will  be  found  of  the  greatest  assist- 
ance and  benefit;  to  one  who  writes  it  will  be  invaluable. 
These  books  comprise  a  complete  encyclopedia  of  inter- 
esting, valuable  and  curious  facts  regarding  all  the  char- 
acters of  any  note  whatever  in  literature.  This  is  the 
latest  Addition  to  the  world-famous  Lippincott's  Readers' 
Reference  Library.  Each  volume,  as  published,  has  be- 
come a  standard  part  of  public  and  private  librarie*. 


A  Jf^onderful  Story  of  Heroism 

The  Home  of  the  Blizzard 

By  SIR  DOUGLAS  MAWSON.  Two  volumes.  315  remark- 
able photographs.  16  colored  plates,  drawings,  plans,  maps,  etc. 
8vo.  $9.00  net. 

Have  you  heard  Sir  Douglas  lecture?  If  you  have,  you 
will  want  to  read  this  book  that  you  may  become  better 
acquainted  with  his  charming  personality,  and  to  preserve 
in  the  three  hundred  and  fifteen  superb  illustrations  with 
the  glittering  text,  a  permanent  record  of  the  greatest 
battle  that  has  ever  been  waged  against  the  wind,  the 
snow,  the  crevice  ice  and  the  prolonged  darkness  of  over 
two  years  in  Antarctic  lands. 

It  has  been  estimated  by  critics  as  the  most  interesting 
and  the  greatest  account  of  Polar  Exploration.  For  in- 
stance, the  London  Athenaeum,  an  authority,  said:  "No 
polar  book  ever  written  has  surpassed  these  volumes  in 
sustained  interest  or  in  the  variety  of  the  subject  matter." 
It  is  indeed  a  tale  of  pluck,  heroism  and  infinite  endurance 
that  comes  as  a  relief  in  the  face  of  accounts  of  the  same 
qualities  sacrificed  in  Europe  for  a  cause  so  less  worthy. 

To  understand  "courage"  you  must  read  the  author's 
account  of  his  terrific  struggle  alone  in  the  blizzard, — an 
eighty-mile  fight  in  a  hurricane  snow  with  his  two  com- 
panions left  dead  behind  him. 

The  wild  life  in  the  southern  seas  is  multitudinous;  whole 
armies  of  dignified  penguins  were  caught  with  the  camera; 
bluff  old  sea-lions  and  many  a  strange  bird  of  this  new 
continent  were  so  tame  that  they  could  be  easily  ap- 
proached. For  the  first  time  actual  colored  photographs 
bring  to  us  the  flaming  lights  of  the  untrodden  land.  They 
are  unsurpassed  in  any  other  work. 

These  volumes  will  be  a  great  addition  to  your  library; 
whether  large  or  small,  literary  or  scientific,  they  are  an 
inspiration,  a  delight  to  read. 


Heart's  Content 

By  RALPH  HENRY  BARBOUR.  Illustrations  in  color  by 
H.  Weston  Taylor.  Page  D  ecorations  by  Edward  Stratton  Hollo- 
way.  Handsome  cloth  binding.  In  sealed  packet.  $1.50  net. 

This  is  the  tale  of  a  summer  love  affair  carried  on  by  an 
unusual  but  altogether  bewitching  lover  in  a  small  summer 
resort  in  New  England.  Allan  Shortland,  a  gentleman, 
a  tramp,  a  poet,  and  withal  the  happiest.of  happy  men, 
is  the  hero;  Beryl  Vernon,  as  pretty  as  the  ripple  of  her 
name,  is  the  heroine.  Two  more  appealing  personalities 
are  seldom  found  within  the  covers  of  a  book.  Fun  and 
plenty  of  it,  romance  and  plenty  of  it, — and  an  end  full 
of  happiness  for  the  characters,  and  to  the  reader  regret 
that  the  story  is  over.  The  illustrations  by  H.  Weston 
Taylor,  the  decorations  by  Edward  Stratton  Holloway  and 
the  tasteful  sealed  package  are  exquisite. 

A  New  Volume  in  THE  STORIES 
ALL  CHILDREN  LOFE  SERIES 


Heidi 


By  JOHANNA  SPYRI.  Translated  by  ELISABETH  P. 
STORK.  Introduction  by  Charles  Wharton  Stork.  With  eight 
illustrations  in  color  by  Maria  L.  Kirk.  8vo.  $1.25  net. 

This  is  the  latest  addition  to  the  Stories  All  Children 
Love  Series.  The  translation  of  the  classic  story  has 
been  accomplished  in  a  marvellously  simple  and  direct 
fashion, — it  is  a  high  example  of  the  translator's  art. 
American  children  should  be  as  familiar  with  it  as  they 
are  with  "Swiss  Family  Robinson,"  and  we  feel  certain 
that  on  Christmas  Day  joy  will  be  brought  to  the 
nurseries  in  which  this  book  is  a  present.  The  illustra- 
tions by  Maria  L.  Kirk  are  of  the  highest  calibre, — the 
color,  freshness  and  fantastic  airiness  present  just  the 
spark  to  kindle  the  imagination  of  the  little  tots. 


HEWLETT'S  GREATEST  PTORK: 

Romance,  Satire  and  a  German 

The  Little  Iliad 

By  MAURICE  HEWLETT.    Colored  frontispiece  by  Edward 
Burne- Jones.    i2mo.    $1.35  net. 

A  "Hewlett"  that  you  and  every  one  else  will  enjoy! 
It  combines  the  rich  romance  of  his  earliest  work  with  the 
humor,  freshness  and  gentle  satire  of  his  more  recent. 

The  whimsical,  delightful  novelist  has  dipped  his  pen 
in  the  inkhorn  of  modern  matrimonial  difficulties  and 
brings  it  out  dripping  with  amiable  humor,  delicious  but 
fantastic  conjecture.  Helen  of  Troy  lives  again  in  the 
Twentieth  Century,  but  now  of  Austria;  beautiful,  be- 
witching, love-compelling,  and  with  it  all  married  to  a 
ferocious  German  who  has  drained  the  cup  and  is  now 
squeezing  the  dregs  of  all  that  life  has  to  offer.  He  has 
locomotor  ataxia  but  that  does  not  prevent  his  Neitschean 
will  from  dominating  all  about  him,  nor  does  it  prevent 
Maurice  Hewlett  from  making  him  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  portentous  characters  portrayed  by  the  hand 
of  an  Englishman  in  many  a  day.  Four  brothers  fall  in 
love  with  the  fair  lady, — there  are  amazing  but  happy 
consequences.  The  author  has  treated  an  involved  story 
in  a  delightful,  naive  and  refreshing  manner. 

The  Sea- Hawk 

By  RAPHAEL  SABATINI.    i2mo.    Cloth.    $1.25  net. 

Sabatini  has  startled  the  reading  public  with  this  mag- 
nificent romance!  It  is  a  thrilling  treat  to  find  a  vivid, 
clean-cut  adventure  yarn.  Sincere  in  this,  we  beg  you, 
brothers,  fathers,  husbands  and  comfortable  old  bachelors, 
to  read  this  tale  and  even  to  hand  it  on  to  your  friends  of 
the  fairer  sex,  provided  you  are  certain  that  they  do  not 
mind  the  glint  of  steel  and  the  shrieks  of  dying  captives. 


The  Man  From  the 
Bitter  Roots 

By  CAROLINE  LOCKHART.    3  illustrations  in  color  by  Gayle 
Hoskins.    i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

"Better  than  'Me-Smith'" — that  is  the  word  of  those 
who  have  read  this  story  of  the  powerful,  quiet,  competent 
Bruce  Burt.  You  recall  the  humor  of  "Me-Smith," — 
wait  until  you  read  the  wise  sayings  of  Uncle  Billy  and 
the  weird  characters  of  the  Hinds  Hotel.  You  recall  some 
of  those  flashing  scenes  of  "Me-Smith" — wait  until  you 
read  of  the  blizzard  in  the  Bitter  Roots,  of  Bruce  Burt 
throwing  the  Mexican  wrestling  champion,  of  the  reckless 
feat  of  shooting  the  Roaring  River  with  the  dynamos  upon 
the  rafts,  of  the  day  when  Bruce  Burt  almost  killed  a  man 
who  tried  to  burn  out  his  power  plant, — then  you  will 
know  what  hair-raising  adventures  really  are.  The  tale 
is  dramatic  from  the  first  great  scene  in  that  log  cabin 
in  the  mountains  when  Bruce  Burt  meets  the  murderous 
onslaught  of  his  insane  partner. 

A  Man's  Hearth 

By  ELEANOR  M.  INGRAM.    Illustrated  in  color  by  Edmund 
Frederick.    I2mo.    $1.25  net. 

The  key  words  to  all  Miss  Ingram's  stones  are  "fresh- 
ness," "speed"  and  "vigor."  "From  the  Car  Behind" 
was  aptly  termed  "one  continuous  joy  ride."  "A  Man's 
Hearth"  has  all  the  vigor  and  go  of  the  former  story  and 
also  a  heart  interest  that  gives  a  wider  appeal.  A  young 
New  York  millionaire,  at  odds  with  his  family,  finds  his 
solution  in  working  for  and  loving  the  optimistic  nurse- 
maid who  brought  him  from  the  depths  of  trouble  and 
made  for  him  a  hearthstone.  There  are  fascinating  side 
issues  but  this  is  the  essential  story  and  it  is  an  inspiring 
one.  It  will  be  one  of  the  big  books  of  the  winter. 


By  the  author  of  " MARCIA  SCHUYLER" 
"LO/  MICHAEL"  "THE  BEST  MAN"  etc. 

The  Obsession  of  Victoria  Gracen 

By  GRACE  LIVINGSTON  HILL  LUTZ.    Illustrated  in  color. 
i2ino.    $1.25  net. 

Every  mother,  every  church-worker,  every  individual 
who  desires  to  bring  added  happiness  into  the  lives  of 
others  should  read  this  book.  A  new  novel  by  the  author 
of  "Marcia  Schuyler"  is  always  a  treat  for  those  of  us 
who  want  clean,  cheerful,  uplifting  fiction  of  the  sort  that 
you  can  read  with  pleasure,  recommend  with  sincerity  and 
remember  with  thankfulness.  This  book  has  the  exact 
touch  desired.  The  story  is  of  the  effect  that  an  orphan 
boy  has  upon  his  lonely  aunt,  his  Aunt  Vic.  Her  obsession 
is  her  love  for  the  lad  and  his  happiness.  There  is  the 
never-failing  fund  of  fun  and  optimism  with  the  high 
religious  purpose  that  appears  in  all  of  Mrs.  Lutz's  excel- 
lent stories. 


Miranda 


By  GRACE  LIVINGSTON  HILL  LUTZ.    Illustrated  in  color 
by  E.  L.  Henry.    I2mo.    $1.25  net. 

Nearly  all  of  us  fell  in  love  with  Miranda  when  she  first 
appeared  in  "Marcia  Schuyler,"  but  those  who  missed 
that  happiness  will  now  find  her  even  more  lovable  in 
this  hew  book  of  which  she  is  the  central  figure.  From 
cover  to  cover  it  is  a  tale  of  optimism,  of  courage,  of 
purpose.  You  lay  it  down  with  a  revivified  spirit,  a 
stronger  heart  for  the  struggle  of  this  world,  a  clearer 
hope  for  the  next,  and  a  determination  to  make  yourself 
and  the  people  with  whom  you  come  in  contact  cleaner, 
more  spiritual,  more  reverent  than  ever  before.  It  is 
deeply  religious  in  character:  a  novel  that  will  bring  the 
great  spiritual  truths  of  God,  character  and  attainment 
straight  to  the  heart  of  every  reader. 


"GRIPPING"  DETECTIVE  TALES 

The  White  Alley 

By  CAROLYN  WELLS.    Frontispiece,    tamo.    $1.25  net. 

FLEMING  STONE,  the  ingenious  American  detective, 
has  become  one  of  the  best  known  characters  in  modern 
fiction.  He  is  the  supreme  wizard  of  crime  detection  in 
the  WHITE  BIRCHES  MYSTERY  told  in— "THE 
WHITE  ALLEY.'* 

The  Boston  Transcript  says:  "As  an  incomparable 
solver  of  criminal  enigmas,  Stone  is  in  a  class  by  himself. 
A  tale  which  will  grip  the  attention."  This  is  what 
another  says : — "  Miss  Wells's  suave  and  polished  detective, 
Fleming  Stone,  goes  through  the  task  set  for  him  with 
celerity  and  dispatch.  Miss  Wells's  characteristic  humor 
and  cleverness  mark  the  conversations." — New  York  Times. 

The  Woman  in  the  Car 

By  RICHARD  MARSH.    i2mo.    $1.33  net. 

Do  you  like  a  thrilling  tale?  If  so,  read  this  one  and 
we  almost  guarantee  that  you  will  not  stir  from  your  chair 
until  you  turn  the  last  page.  As  the  clock  struck  midnight 
on  one  of  the  most  fashionable  streets  of  London  in  the 
Duchess  of  Ditchling's  handsome  limousine,  ArthurTowzer, 
millionaire  mining  magnate,  is  found  dead  at  the  wheel, 
horribly  mangled.  Yes,  this  is  a  tale  during  the  reading 
of  which  you  will  leave  your  chair  only  to  turn  up  the 
gas.  When  you  are  not  shuddering,  you  are  thinking; 
your  wits  are  balanced  against  the  mind  and  system  of 
the  famous  Scotland,  Yard,  the  London  detective  head- 
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without  reading  the  last  few  pages  will  deserve  a  reward, — 
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THE  NOVEL   THEY'RE  ALL   TALKING   ABOUT 

The  Rose-Garden  Husband 

By  MARGARET  WIDDEMER.    Illustrated  by  Walter  Biggs. 
Small  i2ino.    $1.00  net. 

"A  Benevolent  Friend  just  saved  me  from  missing  '  The 
Rose-Garden  Husband.'  It  is  something  for  thanks- 
giving, so  I  send  thanks  to  you  and  the  author.  The 
story  is  now  cut  out  and  stitched  and  in  my  collection 
of  'worth-while*  stories,  in  a  portfolio  that  holds  only 
the  choicest  stories  from  many  magazines.  There  is  a 
healthy  tone  in  this  that  puts  it  above  most  of  these 
choice  ones.  And  a  smoothness  of  action,  a  reality  of 
motive  and  speech,  that  comforts  the  soul  of  a  veteran 
reviewer."  From  a  Letter  to  the  Publishers. 

Edition  after  edition  of  this  novel  has  been  sold,  surely 
you  are  not  going  to  miss  it.  It  is  going  the  circle  of  family 
after  family, — every  one  likes  it.  The  New  York  Times, 
a  paper  that  knows,  calls  it  "a  sparkling,  rippling  little 
tale."  Order  it  now, — the  cost  is  but  one  dollar. 

The  Diary  of  a  Beauty 

By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL.   Illustrated  by  William  Dorr 
Steele.    121110.   $1.25  net. 

From  the  assistant  postmistress  in  a  small  New  England 
village  to  the  owner  of  a  great  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue 
is  the  story  told  not  as  outsiders  saw  it,  but  as  the  beau- 
tiful heroine  experiences  it, — an  account  so  naive,  so 
deliciously  cunning,  so  true,  that  the  reader  turns  page 
after  page  with  an  inner  feeling  of  absolute  satisfaction. 

The  Dusty  Road 

By  THERESE  TYLER.    Frontispiece  by  H.  Weston  Taylor. 
i2mo.    $1.25  net. 

This  is  a  remarkable  story  of  depth  and  power, — the 
struggle  of  Elizabeth  Anderson  to  clear  herself  of  her 
sordid  surroundings.  Such  books  are  not  written  every 
day,  nor  every  year,  nor  every  ten  years.  It  is  stimulating 
to  a  higher,  truer  life. 


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The  Practical  Book  of  Outdoor 
Rose  Growing 


NEW  EDITION 

REVISED  AND  ENLARGED 


By  GEORGE  C.  THOMAS,  JR.  Elaborately  illustrated  with 
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Architecture 

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Our  Philadelphia 

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By  ELIZABETH  ROBINS  and  JOSEPH  PENNELL.    Thor- 
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TT    •  j-     By  JOHANNA  SPYRI. 
neiUl    Translated  by  Elisabeth  P.  Stork. 

The  Cuckoo  Clock     By  MRS.  MOLESWORTH. 

The  Swiss  Family  Robinson    G.  E^MITTON. 

The  Princess  and  the  Goblin  MA^DEONALIX 

The  Princess  and  Curdie   MA<?I?ONALIX 

At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind  faSSSSSS. 

A  Dog  of  Flanders    By  «OUIDA.» 

Bimbi    By"ouiDA.» 

Mopsa,  the  Fairy     By  JEAN  INGELOW. 

The  Chronicles  of  Fairyland  sy FERGUS  HUME. 

Hans  Andersen's  Fairy  Tales 

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